FT MEADE 

‘•" c ° u ’HREE OF SALU 

~*~.dren of the World series 










































































THE THREE OF SALU 
































CHILDREN OF THE WORLD 


THE THREE OF 
SALU 

AROUND THE YEAR IN NORTHERN ITALY 

BY 

CAROL DELLA CHIESA 



1923 

WORLD BOOK COMPANY 

YONKERS-ON-HUDSON, NEW YORK 







WORLD BOOK COMPANY 


THE HOUSE OF APPLIED KNOWLEDGE 

Established 1905 by Caspar W. Hodgson 
Yonkers-on-Hudson, New York 
2126 Prairie Avenue, Chicago 

This little book is the fourth in the Children 
of the World, a series of books for young 
readers which are designed to open up to 
them the study of geography and history 
as living subjects. “ Paz and Pablo: A 
Story of Two Little Filipinos,” “ Sunshine 
Lands of Europe,” and “The Alo Man: 
Stories from the Congo ” have already been 
published, and other volumes will be added 
to the series from time to time, until stories 
of the life of children in every land are told. 
The author of the present volume is a na¬ 
tive of Italy, and she spent her childhood 
days among the scenes which she describes. 
The artist, equipped with a copy of the man¬ 
uscript, made a special trip to the locality 
of the town in Italy herein described under 
the name of Salu, and completed her draw¬ 
ings for the book during her stay there. The 
publishers believe that in view of the inti¬ 
mate acquaintance of author and artist 
with their subject matter, an unusually 
authentic presentation of Italian child life 
has been secured in both story and picture 


cw: DCTS-1 


Copyright 1923 by World Book Company 
Copyright in Great Britain 


All rights reserved 
printed in u.s.a. 




©C1A704071 







contents 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Introductions. 7 

II. The Big House and the Big Dog. . . 21 

III. The Little Chimney Sweep. 32 

IV. The Chimney Sweep’s Story. 38 

V. An Italian Vineyard. 50 

VI. November Days. 60 

VII. Maesa Comes. 69 

VIII. Winter. 75 

IX. The Marionette Theater. 86 

X. Christmas. 93 

XI. The Befana. 101 

XII. A Trip to Toro and the Carnival . . 108 

XIII. Springtime in the Land of Flowers . 119 

XIV. The Soldiers and the Italian Fourth 

of July.127 

XV. A Picnic to the Sagra. 138 

XVI. A Hailstorm.146 

XVII. At the Seashore.155 

XVIII. In the Alps. 166 

XIX. A Trip to America. 176 


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THE THREE OF SALU 

CHAPTER I 

INTRODUCTIONS 

T HE Three lived, when very little, in a 
small town of northern Italy, a very 
old and quaint place indeed. 

So old is the town of Salu that no doubt 
some of its streets and buildings remember 
the Romans, those wonderful people that lived 
in Italy a thousand and more years ago. Not 
only that; some of the streets and buildings 
are still, today, just as the Romans left them. 

There was one old castle, so old and for¬ 
bidding that every time the Three passed it 
on their walks, it awed them anew. It stood 
among the hills, with its towers, its high, 
steep walls, its moat, and its bridge, as it had 
stood there hundreds of years before. So 
many things had happened there, so many 
people had lived inside those grim red walls, 
that the children of Salu imagined they saw 
knights of old riding out of its gates to battle 
and ladies fair waving goodby to them from 
the towers. 


[7] 


The peasants about the countryside said the 
castle was haunted; that at night, sometimes, 
sounds of song and laughter came from it. Of 
course these were only tales; yet many be¬ 
lieved them, and the Three did, too. How 
could they help believing them, when every¬ 
thing about the place was so strange, so weird! 

There was among other things a long under¬ 
ground passage that wound itself in and out 
for miles in the hills around the castle and 
opened out at last on a mountain far away. 
It was said that the tunnel had been dug by 
prisoners in the castle who had wished to 
escape to France. 

Some of the streets of Salu were wide and 
modern. Others were old and narrow and 
steep, and these were paved with big, round 
cobblestones, far from comfortable to walk upon. 
One of the features of the little town was 
the Arches, covered 



[8] 







days, for under them people could stay in the 
open and still keep out of the rain. On Sunday 
afternoons the bands played there. All Salu 
turned out to hear them. The Three loved to 
listen to them, as they played the marches of 
their favorite regiments. La Marcia dei Ber- 
saglieri , “The Sharpshooters’ March,” was the 
one they liked best of all, and they always 
clapped for it to be repeated. 

Among the hills of Salu were many lovely 
villas. In Salu itself the houses, though roomy 
and cozy inside, when seen from the outside 
were far from pretty. Many were really 


[9] 



homely. But their homeliness was soon for¬ 
gotten when one saw the many beautiful 
things — paintings, pictures, tapestries, and 
statues — with which they were filled. 

Every one in Salu knew the Three. And 
the Three knew every one. They counted 
their friends among the poor and lowly, as 
well as among the rich. They treated the 
Bishop in his palace with the same friendly 
tu 1 they gave to the beggar who held out his 
hand to them at the church door. 

It is true that more than once they had 
been reproved for saying “tu” to the Bishop 
and not the formal Lei, but Bianca’s argument 
to this had been: 

“I say ‘tu’ to God; why can’t I say it to 
the Bishop?” 

And the Bishop, when he heard about it, 
had laughed and given full permission for the 
“tu.” 

The Three were Paolo, Clara, and Bianca, 
three children, full of fun and mischief, good 
at times and at times very bad. 

Paolo was the pride of his mother’s heart, a 
good-looking, gray-eyed little lad. He was a 
very good playfellow and the recognized leader 
1 Thou. 


[10] 


of the Three in games, in work, and in mis¬ 
chief. Early in life he showed a keen love for 
the pranks of boyhood, and even as a tiny 
chap he kept every one busy watching for his 
next adventure. 

A favorite game of his was to play he was a 
marionette. He knew the marionettes well, 
having met them at the Marionette Theater, 
and he was always trying to imitate them. It 
was really surprising to see the tricks he suc¬ 
ceeded in doing. 

One day he was giving to his usual admiring 
audience of two, a daring exhibition of his 
progress as a trick performer. The trick for 
the day consisted in walking unaided across 
the balcony railing. The spectators watched, 
breathless with interest. Step by step the feat 
was accomplished. That over, Paolo started 
to help his little sisters to follow in his foot¬ 
steps. But luckily prevention 
came. The mother of the per¬ 
formers appeared on the scene, 
the performance was inter¬ 
rupted, and the Three were 
given a lecture of the kind 
usually heard only in Sunday 
schools. 




Clara was a quiet young person with a 
serious, independent outlook upon life in gen¬ 
eral. Her dark-blue eyes seemed always to be 
asking people questions. 

On a lovely spring day the Three were tak¬ 
ing a walk through the streets of Salu. It was 
just after the snows from the hills had begun 
to melt. The drainways in the middle of the 
streets were swollen with water. Clara, then 
about four years old, was enjoying both the 
walk and the talk with a young officer who 
was at the time one of her special favorites 
among her many friends. In crossing one of 
the streets, Clara’s little legs proved a trifle 
too short to carry her over one of the swollen 
drainways. Help was offered, but politely de¬ 
clined. The next moment found Clara in a 
very undignified position right in the middle 
of a small river. 

“Little Miss Independence, may I be al¬ 
lowed to assist now?” The officer tried bravely 
to keep a straight face, but the gallant bow 
that accompanied the request could not quite 
hide a smile. 

Help was accepted, for there was nothing 
else to do, but a long time passed before Little 
Miss Independence forgot the enjoyment of 
her accident. 


[12] 


The third member of the company was 
Bianca; yet she was very seldom called by 
that dignified name. She was a great little 
mischief and led every one a dance. Her 
father called her Cricket, for she was never 
still a moment; her grandfather called her 
Ninette, for she was very little; and to her 
little friends she was nothing but Goldenhair, 
for her hair was long and thick and golden. 

Cricket’s father had succeeded, after much 
work, in coaxing a peach 



[13] 






The peaches grew bigger and more and 
more golden every day. At last a pretty pink 
spot appeared on each of them. 

“There is just one for each of us,” 
Bianca suggested to her two companions one 
day. 

“Yes, but father told us not to touch them, 
Ninette,” Clara made haste to remind her 
sister. 

Bianca loved her father dearly, but the 
peaches grew to be such a temptation, that 
the day came when she could no longer resist 
them. Before any one saw her, she had climbed 
up on a garden bench and the coveted peach 
was in her hand. 

Her little teeth were ready to sink into the 
forbidden fruit, when she spied her father 
coming into the garden to show his peaches to 


a friend. 



“Cricket, what 
are you doing?” 
he called out. 


Cricket looked at 
him, smiling for 
forgiveness. What 


[14] 


she saw was a very stern face; so she turned 
and ran. 

In and out of the garden paths she flew, 
with her father after her. Bianca was a swift 
runner, but she was only a very little girl, 
and she began to lose the race. Then a bright 
idea came into her head. 

“The flower beds! Father won’t dare trample 
on them. But I can’t hurt them.” 

And so back and forth across the flower 
beds she sped. For encouragement she could 
hear her grandfather’s voice urging her on: 

“Run, Ninette, run!” 

And Ninette did run — so fast that she was 
at last declared the winner of the race. Her 
father was too proud of his little daughter's 
racing to scold her; so the peach was divided, 
and every one agreed 
it was the best peach 
he had ever tasted. 

With their father 
and mother the 
Three were very hap¬ 
py, happy and busy 



ar>a 


[15] 



all day long. They were great friends and never 
far away from each other. They played together, 
walked together, and later studied together. 

An important member of the household was 
Lisa. She was the Three’s nurse and constant 
companion. She had been in the house for 
many years, and she held a high place in the 
hearts of her little charges. She was always 
ready to listen to joys or sorrows; she under¬ 
stood the Three, good or bad; she never scolded 
unless the scolding was well deserved. More¬ 
over, she could tell the most wonderful fairy 
tales. Is it any wonder the little mischiefs in 
her care loved her well? 

Toinette was the cook and the undisputed 
ruler of the kitchen. She did not allow any of 
the Three near that kitchen, and they did not 
dare to brook her anger. 

“For she might get very angry and go away, 
and then we should have nothing to eat,” 
Paolo had said once. 

Then there were Marie, the maid, and Neta, 
the dressmaker who came to the house almost 
every day to help Lisa. Neta knew even 
more fairy tales than Lisa, and she had such 
a delightful way of telling them that Paolo 
and his sisters were always willing listeners. 


[16] 


To her, every strange house in the woods had 
a story to tell, every flower, every queerly 
shaped stone or twisted tree. She was the 
typical story-teller, of whom there are so many 
in Italy. 

In Italy children are taught, even when very 
young, that early rising is the best of tonics. 
To this rule the Three had been brought up. 
As tiny tots they learned the lesson, and each 
bright morning saw them out of doors at an 
early hour. Not in the streets, however, for 
among Italian children only the 
very poor who have no father 
or mother to look after them 
play in the streets. The others 
have to be satisfied to play in 
gardens or on balconies. Many 
homes in Italy have gardens. 
If not a garden, they have at 
least a balcony, and a balcony 
makes a fine playground. 

When they were very little, 
Paolo, Clara, and Bianca were 
not among the lucky ones of the 
gardens. They had a balcony, 



[17] 







though, so wide and so full of lovely flowers 
that they enjoyed many a happy hour there. 
Yet they longed for a garden, and they often 
begged for it. 

Almost every afternoon Lisa took her charges 
to spend a few hours at their grandparents’ 
home. The Three loved everything about the 
old house, that for hundreds of years had be¬ 
longed to their own people. It seemed to 
them that the very walls must love them as 
well as they loved the walls. They felt the 
house belonged to them, but that they be¬ 
longed to it just as much. 

Besides the house there was a fine old garden, 
so big that it was almost a park. To the chil¬ 
dren it was fairyland come to life. In it they 
could wander about for hours, it was so full 
of nooks and corners, real kingdoms for hide- 
and-go-seek and for all kinds of make-believe. 

Flowers bloomed all over the place, and 



[18] 




Paolo, Bianca, and Clara were allowed to pick 
to their hearts’ content. The trees of the 
garden were so tall, their tops seemed to be 
lost among the clouds. In play, they were 
peopled with the giants and the fairies of story- 
land. 

One tree was the children’s great favorite. 
They called it Father’s Tree. It had been 
planted as a tiny shrub when their father was 
born, and now the children saw it a giant 
pine, tall and straight. 

But the greatest attraction to be found there 
by the little brother and sisters were two dear 
old people, il Nonno 1 and la Nonna , 2 as they 
called them. They thought them the best 
grandparents on earth, and the Nonni thought 
no children on earth were just like the Three. 

II Nonno had been in all the wars that Italy 
had fought for her independence, and he loved 
to tell of those days. 

“ Miei cari piccoli ,” 3 he would say to his 
attentive listeners, “those were great days! 
Our hearts burned with love for Italia, and 
oh, how we fought that she might be free! 

1 Grandfather. 3 My dear little ones. 

2 Grandmother. 


[19] 


Never forget what Italia stands for, bimbi, 1 
freedom and right. Love her always, no matter 
where you may be.” 

The joyful news came to the Three one day 
that they were to move to a new house. 

“And shall we have a garden?” they asked. 

“Perhaps,” answered their father. “Chi lo 
sa?” 2 

1 Children. 2 Who knows? 


[20] 


CHAPTER II 


THE BIG HOUSE AND THE BIG 


DOG 



T that time in Salu there were no street 


cars. Indeed, horse and carriage would 
have had a hard time climbing some of the 
steep and narrow streets. Many other Italian 
towns, like Salu, are built on hills. That is 
one reason why the Land of Sunny Skies is so 
quaint and picturesque. 

The afternoon the Three had been impa¬ 
tiently waiting for came at last. They were 
ready in record time for the promised walk to 
the new house. They had not been told where 
the new house was to be, but when Salu was 
left behind and they climbed up into the hills, 


















they knew well they were to have the kind of 
home they had always wished and asked for. 

The new home finally came into sight. A 
long avenue of tall trees stretched out before 
the three eager, impatient little people. At 
the end of the avenue a gate stood ready to 
open and smile a welcome, it seemed. Be¬ 
yond the gate, the white walls and the dark 
roof of a big house showed against green trees 
and blue skies. 

It took three pairs of feet only a very few 
minutes to reach that gate. Each child in turn 
had to be lifted up and allowed to use the 
knocker. There was a bell too, but the knocker 
looked much more inviting. In answer to the 



[ 22 ] 




















-seise 

v* « jL k ^ ^ y L- J l. 

white uraUs and -[he dank 
voofpda big house showed 
czga z d sidgneeji dnees and 
ice skies. 


[ 23 ] 




























many knocks, the gate was opened by the old 
caretaker, who bowed and smiled as he ushered 
every one in. 

Once inside, the Three with shrieks of joy 
were here, there, and everywhere at once. 
Their first thought was for the outdoors. They 
found all they wanted. There were two gardens, 
one near the house, the other a sunken garden 
reached by two stone stairs that looked most 
inviting. Trees, flowers, birds — all were there. 
The walks, the adventures, 
the digging, the planting, 
the mud pies, all would come 
true in time. 

Back to their father and 
mother the Three flew with 
the news of their discov¬ 
eries. 

“And have you found the 
garden?” their father asked 
with a smile. 

For answer he was treated 
to a hug, bear-style. 

“And what about the 
house? Do you like it?” 

Yes, the house too was 
declared just right. Such 



[ 24 ] 


















big rooms, such cozy play corners! The nursery 
was voted on as perfect, the very place for 
telling fairy tales at story-hour time. 

A surprise was in store for the children in the 
shape of a lovely little chapel in a room near 
their mother’s. It was so quiet and peaceful 
there, that even three boisterous youngsters 
felt subdued and did not find it hard to think 
of God in it. 

“We’ll say our prayers here every morning,” 
Clara decided for herself and her playmates. 

Each nook and corner of the big house was 
explored with care, till the call came to go 
home. 

“May we have the dog now, a great big one, 
big enough to play with?” begged Paolo, on 
the way home. 

His father only smiled, and Paolo felt quite 
discouraged. 

A few days passed in great excitement. The 
Three were packed away to spend a few days 
with the Nonni, to be out of the way of the 
grown-ups. But the day dawned at last when 
they found themselves settled in their new 
home, the Villa Grande. 

Early one morning the children had gone 
down to their breakfast. Then they had 


[ 25 ] 


scampered out on the porch. It was a rainy, 
wet morning, and the garden was too damp a 
place for little folks to be in. Yet the big, 
roomy porch was good for almost any game. 
In Italy porches of country houses are much 
larger than those of American homes. They 
are called atrios. A better name for them 
would be a covered portico. In Spain and 
Mexico these interior covered places are named 
patios. The atrio of the Villa Grande was 
filled with flowers and plants, and the Three 
were almost as fond of it as they were of their 
garden. 

Cervo volante , a favorite Italian game played 
with little feathered balls, was started. The 
balls were sailing swiftly through the air, 
when a strange series of sounds made the game 
come to a sudden stop. The sounds came from 


of the atrio — pitiful whim¬ 
perings and sad little cries. 


a large crate in one corner 



[ 26 ] 



It was easy to guess what the trouble was. 
Through the slats of the crate, what looked 
like a dog could be seen huddled on the floor. 
The children danced and jigged about with glee 
and then ran for help. 

“Father, quick, please come and open this 
cage!” they called. 

In a few minutes the poor prisoner was 
released. 

“Why, father, you said we were to have a 
puppy,” cried out Paolo, his eyes shining with 
excitement. “This is a big dog now.” 

“Yet it is only a puppy, and a very young 
one. He is only a few weeks old, but you see 
he is a wolf-hound and they are large, even 
when very young.” 

Clara and Bianca were speechless. They 
seemed almost afraid of the big fellow before 
them. He was so big and so wobbly, he looked 
more like one of the young calves they had 
seen in the country than like a dog. 

The pup stood up rather unsteadily at first 
and looked about him with great, soft brown 
eyes that begged for love. 

Paolo was the first to accept the offered 
friendship. As soon as the friendly little hand 
touched him, out came the puppy’s long, red 


[ 27 ] 


tongue and Paolo’s face was given a friendly, 
loving kiss. This did not seem quite pleasant, 
judging by the look on Paolo’s face. But it 
was the only way a lonely pup had of showing 
how good it felt to be loved. 

Following their leader’s example, Clara and 
Bianca soon found courage. In a short while 
the four had become fast friends. 

Then the Three forgot the drizzle outside and 
raced into the garden, the dog at their heels. 
They had a fine romp, and many tumbles too, 
for the pup had no manners whatever. Indeed, 
he was far from being a gentleman; and as he 
was bigger than the Three put together, it is 
easy to see what happened when he ran into 
them. 

The dog was christened Tom. This sounds 
like a funny dog-name in America. Different 
countries have different customs even in names, 
it seems. In America the name “Carlo” is 
often given to a dog; in Italy it is used only 
as a little boy’s name. 

In a week the Three and Tom were such 
friends that they were very seldom seen apart. 
Sad to say, however, it seemed for a time as if 
the friendship were to be broken. And Tom 
alone was to blame. 


[ 28 ] 


He was only a happy puppy, of course, yet 
every one began to feel it was hard to forgive 
him all his sins, much as they loved him. One 
day he tumbled a plant off its stand in the 
a trio and broke it into a thousand bits. An¬ 
other day, in a wild, happy game with his little 
friends, he tore their clothing to shreds. The 
game he enjoyed more than any was to dig 
and dig in the garden, till there were holes as 
big as himself and dead and wounded flowers 
lying all about him. He listened to no one. 
He was looking for a good time, no matter 
where he found it or what mischief it led him 
into. 

One sad day sentence was pronounced upon 
him. The Three begged and pleaded in vain. 
Their father was just like a stern judge in 
court. Tom was to go on a visit to Padre 
Giovanni’s farm, till he could learn to be¬ 
have himself. 



[ 29 ] 


‘‘When Padre Giovanni 1 says he is a gentle¬ 
man-dog, you may have him back;” and so 
Tom went. 

Poor Tom! He was a sorry-looking dog in¬ 
deed, when Padre Giovanni led him away. 

How lonely the Three were without him! 
But their loneliness lasted just one short week. 
At the end of that week, Padre Giovanni ap¬ 
peared at the villa one morning, leading a 
joyous Tom. Paolo, Clara, and Bianca ran 
wild with delight at seeing their good friend 
again. 

They were surely going to hear that Tom 
had become a gentleman, they thought. On 
the contrary, this is what Padre Giovanni had 
come to say: 

“I am sorry, sir. I’d like to keep your dog 
for you, but it is a little more than I can af¬ 
ford. He chases the cows, kills the chickens, 
scares the children. He has had chicken dinners 
every day this week, and he is not satisfied 
with one or even two chickens, sir. Yesterday 
he started a fight with a bull and nearly lost 
his own life. This morning he ran into the hen 
house and now there isn’t one chicken that can 

father John; the title “ father” or “zio” (uncle) is 
often given to old peasants in Italy. 


[ 30 ] 


boast of a tail-feather. Sorry, sir, you will 
have to take him back. He isn’t a dog. He’s 
a sirocco .” 1 

The father of the Three looked very stern, 
though trying his best not to burst out laugh¬ 
ing. At first he said Tom was to go where he 
had come from, but in the end the children’s 
pleadings won and Tom remained in his new 
home. 

Poor fellow! He seemed to know he was on 
trial. Little by little he grew more gentle, till 
there came a day when he could be trusted to 
behave himself. 

From that time he was the faithful com¬ 
panion of the three little scamps. He never left 
them. No harm could come to them when Tom 
was around. He went with them on their 
walks; he shared their games; he stretched be¬ 
fore the nursery fire at story-hour time. From 
only one place was Tom barred — Padre Gio¬ 
vanni’s farm. 

1 Windstorm. 


[ 31 ] 


CHAPTER III 

THE LITTLE CHIMNEY SWEEP 

T HE Three had moved to the villa in the 
fall of the year, when days were beginning 
to grow chill. They were too young and too 
happy, however, to let chilly days and falling 
leaves dampen their spirits. The flowers were 
dying one by one and the garden was growing 
bare, but with its bright carpet of leaves it 
seemed to become more beautiful as the days 
passed. Moreover, the woods all about were 
full of treasures for eager seekers to find. Life 
to them meant only smiles and happiness. 
They did not even dream there could be any 
one in the world who had never smiled. 

One day they found out. A strange little 
boy came to the villa. Even to this day the 
Three remember him. 

The rooms of the big villa grew cold and 
damp. The nursery needed the warmth of a 
crackling fire to keep little children comfort¬ 
able. But the chimneys of the fireplaces 
needed cleaning and could not be used lest 
they catch fire. So the caretaker went to 
Salu to get the chimney sweeps. 

The next day they came. There were two of 


[ 32 ] 


them. They passed the Three in the garden 
at their games. One was a boy of about six¬ 
teen, the other a little lad not more than nine 
or ten. He looked longingly at the children 
playing on the grass. 

What a forlorn little fellow he was! Dressed 
like a man and nothing but a baby! His 
clothes, much too big for him, almost hid him. 
His face and his hands were black with soot; 
his hair was straggly and unkempt; his eyes, 
big and black, had a pleading, hungry look. 
From his shoulder hung a heavy leather bag, 
a brush, and a large dust pan, the signs of his 
trade. He was longing, no doubt, to throw 
them down and join the children in play. 

“ Signor ini , 1 may I have a flower?” His 
voice was as soft as his eyes. 

1 Little gentlemen, little ladies. 














Bianca chose the biggest chrysanthemum she 
could find and went to him with it. His face 
brightened and his sad eyes smiled. 

“ Grazie , signorina.” 1 

“Why doesn’t your nurse wash you and 
comb your hair?” 

“Nurse — nurse? What is a nurse?” 

“One who takes care of you when you are 
little. I have a nurse, and you are little, al¬ 
most like me.” 

“But you are a signorina and I am only a 
poor little chimney sweep.” 

“Your mammina , 2 then. Doesn’t she know 
how to take care of you?” 

“My mammina?” he burst out, and then 
without another word he ran into the house. 

The Three looked at each other. Then they 
held a meeting. How could they help the 
little fellow? They rushed to their mother’s 
room like three young whirlwinds. Paolo was 
the spokesman, and he told the story. At the 
end, all together they begged for food and 
clothing for the small worker. 

“Let him finish his work and then we shall 
make him happy,” was the mother’s answer. 

The next trip took the Three to Toinette, to 
ask her to get a good meal ready. She was not 

1 Little lady. 2 Little mother. 


[ 34 ] 


so easily persuaded as their mother had been, 
but at Clara’s earnest pleadings she finally re¬ 
lented. Clara always had her way with Toi- 
nette. 

Happy at their success, they started in 
search of the sweep to see what he was doing. 
They found him in the nursery getting ready 
for his work. A large cloth had been stretched 
on the floor to protect it from the sooty shoes. 
The boy stood in front of the fireplace with 
brush and pan in his hands. The big leather 
bag hung in front of him. With a quick leap 
he disappeared into the chimney. In a few 
seconds he had reached the top. Clara and 
Bianca could not see him, but Paolo, from his 
watching place under the chimney, told of the 
progress made. Soot began to sift downwards, 
however, and he had to retreat to a safe 
distance. 

Though the little worker could not now be 
seen, he could be heard scraping and brushing 
busily away. The Three thought they were 
listening to a mouse making a hole in the wall. 
Patiently they waited for the sweep to reap¬ 
pear. He came down at last. But oh, what a 
sight he was! He had been dirty before; now 
he was as black as a little African. The only 


[ 35 ] 


white spots were about his eyes, and his flash¬ 
ing teeth as he smiled. He had worked hard, 
for his bag was full. 

“Would you like to be clean like us?” Paolo 
asked him in a very blunt way. 

“But I can’t be,” he answered. “If you 
played with soot all day long, you would be 
dirty, too. And I have to work with it.” 

“Yes, but Lisa will make you clean today, 
and give you nice clothes like Paolo’s,” sug¬ 
gested Clara. 

“You are very kind, little signorina, but I 
can’t, I can’t.” Yet as he spoke, his eyes grew 
wistful with the wish to be like other children. 

Just then Lisa walked into the nursery and 
with much coaxing persuaded him to let him¬ 
self be washed. 

“And don’t forget that Toinette has a good 
dinner ready for you in the kitchen,” the 
Three called after him, as he disappeared into 
what he must have thought was a torture' 
chamber. 

Their little friend was well taken care of, 
and so the Three went back to their games. 
They played, but they did not seem as gay as 
before. The thought of that sad little face was 
troubling them. 

Shortly after, the sweep came down into the 


[ 36 ] 


garden. He was clean and neat, and his eyes 
were shining with happiness. He was invited 
to play, and he joined the three children, who 
made him forget that he was a hard-working 
boy. But only for a little while, for it became 
late and he had to go. 

“I wish I could do something to thank you 
all for being so good to me,” he said as he was 
ready to leave. 

“Tell us a story — where you have come 
from,” coaxed Bianca. 

“Would you really like to hear the story of 
a poor sweep like me?” 

“Yes, yes indeed,” and the children settled 
themselves on the grass to listen. 


[ 37 ] 


CHAPTER IV 

THE CHIMNEY SWEEP’S STORY 

M Y name is Pietro,” began the soft, sweet 
voice, “and I am ten years old. I have 
been working since I was eight, and those first 
eight years I spent in the mountains of Savoy, 
where I was born. 

“Perhaps you have never heard of the 
mountains of Savoy. They are far away in a 
country called France, and I have not seen 
them for a long time; yet I often think of 
them and wish for them, too. They are so 
high they almost touch the clouds. Their tops 
can be seen only on very clear days, and they 
are always covered with snow and ice. They 
are so beautiful! I have often watched them 
from the doorstep of our cottage and wondered 
if the Heaven that mother told us of was up 
there. In the evening, just before the sun went 
to sleep, they dressed themselves up in the 
loveliest of colors. From white they became 
pink or gold, then purple, then dark like the 
night. That was the time for us to go to 
bed. 

“We lived in a little cottage at the foot of a 
tall mountain, in a pretty valley that was full 


[ 38 ] 













of sunshine and flowers. There were eight of 
us — my father, my mother, and six children.” 

“What were their names?” asked Bianca, 
who thought she had kept still long enough. 

“Keep quiet and listen,” said Paolo, in a 
disgusted tone. 

“There were eight of us,” little Pietro again 
began. “We had little money, and father had 
to work hard to give us all enough to eat. 
Early every morning he went up the mountain 
to cut down the big pine trees. These were 
afterward sent to the cities to be made into 
masts for ships. So father used to tell. 

“Mother too worked hard. We had two 
goats and many geese and chickens, and they 



age af {fie fool opa fajff moimiairu 


[ 40 ] 






kept her busy. She had to milk the goats, 
make cheeses, and gather the eggs. She also 
made all our clothes — even spun the cloth for 
them — and cooked our dinners. So you see 
she could never be idle. 

“Giovanni, my big brother, was then thirteen 
years old. Father called him his right-hand man. 
Whenever there was much work to be done up 
on the mountain, he always went with father. 

“Giacomo was my second brother. He did 
not like to work as well as did Giovanni. He 
was twelve. He loved the mountains and went 
wandering on them for hours at a time. There 
were days when he went so far up that he would 
come home with his hands filled with the white 
stella alpina , or, as some people call it, the 
edelweiss. 

“Maria, my sister, was ten, and a little 
mother to me and the two babies. 

“The babies were Nina, four years old, and 
Beppo, two. 

“We were happy for a long time, until the 
bad winter came. It grew so cold then. Snow 
fell all the time for months and months. The 
cottage was almost buried under it. Father 
could no longer go to work. There was so 
little to eat, that after a while we had only 


[ 41 ] 


potatoes and chestnuts, never any bread at all. 
And the chestnuts and potatoes were almost 
all gone before the spring came. 

“Winter passed away at last, and the sun 
shone warm and bright again. The snows 
began to melt. We thought spring had come 
with its flowers and sunshine. 

“But instead came the avalanche. You 
perhaps do not know .what an avalanche is. 
We children of the mountains know it, and 
know it too well. 

“The avalanche came one bright, sunny, 
warm day. That morning, father and some 
other men had gone up the mountain to work. 
They had gone up together, singing as they 
went. I still remember his voice singing. We 
stood at the foot of the path and waited for 
him to turn and wave goodby to us. Then we 
scattered to our work. 

“Suddenly we heard a dreadful sound. It 
came from the mountains, and it soon grew to 
a roar. We all knew what it was. Even I 
knew. Mother and sisters and brothers all 
came running. 

The avalanche! ’ we whispered to each other. 

“It was. The noise had become deafening. 
Every one around was crying and shrieking 


[ 42 ] 


and praying for the men up on the mountain. 
I was so frightened I just stood still and listened, 
for I could see nothing. The avalanche of 
snow and ice was rolling down on the other 
side of the cliffs. We were safe, but my father 
was working on that other side. 

“And then just as the roaring and snapping 
and thundering seemed loudest, all was still 
and quiet again. The avalanche had passed. 

“We all knelt on the snow to pray that 
father might be safe, but he wasn’t. He never 
came back, though we waited and waited for 
him. Men went to look for him and for his 
friends. No one was ever found. The ava¬ 
lanche had taken everything away, men, huts, 
trees, even big rocks. 

“Our house became very sad after that day. 
It had been so cheerful, but now we were too 
unhappy. Mother cried often, and to make 
matters worse the little money she had put 
away was soon gone. We were hungry, and 
she had nothing to give us to eat. 

“One day Giovanni went away to the city 
to find work, and soon after Giacomo followed 
him. For a time we had enough money again. 
Then little Nina was taken sick and we spent 
all for doctor and medicines. 


[ 43 ] 


“ Another winter was coming, and we could 
buy no food to store away. One day I told 
mother I wanted to go to work with Giovanni 
and Giacomo. She smiled and she cried and 
said: 

“‘You work? Why, you are only a baby, 
little Pietro.’ 

“It was hard to be called a baby when you 
knew you weren’t, but no matter what I said 
mother would not let me go. 

“But a few weeks after that day I found 
work. A stranger came to the village, looking 
for little boys like me. He wanted them to go 
to the big city with him to clean the chimneys, 
which were too small for big boys to get into. 

“I was standing at the door as he passed the 
cottage. 

“‘Would you like to work for me, little 
boy?’ he asked. 

“He seemed to be kind, so I told him my 
story. How father had been killed; how my 
two brothers had gone to work; how poor and 
hungry we were; and how I wanted to go to 
work to help my mother, but that she would 
not let me. 

“‘Take me to your mother. We’ll ask her 
to let you come with me. Perhaps she will say 
yes.’ 


[ 44 ] 


“He begged and I begged. At first mother 


would not listen to him, but at last she said 
yes. 

“‘Now run out and play,’ said the stranger 
to me. ‘Your mother and I must talk business.’ 

“When I went back, mother showed me a 
bag of money the stranger had given her. I 
thought he wanted to be kind to mother, who 
was so poor; and I know mother thought so, 
too. But that money was to pay for me. The 
stranger has never sent her any more, and that 
was two long years ago. 

“ I said goodby to my home and my mountains 
and went. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t, for 
I was afraid mother might change her mind and 
not let me go away. 

“The stranger and I walked for many hours. 
He was still kind to me and talked of many 



things, but I hardly 
heard him, for I was 
thinking of mother 
and Maria and the 


and Maria and the 
babies. 


“We came to a 


oiPHHl • W\ \ - 

I ^ jjl town, and he hired a 



[ 45 ] 
























horse and wagon. For a long time we drove 
along a wide mountain road. 

“Early in the afternoon we came to a little 
house standing all alone near two shiny tracks. 
The tracks came out of a big, black hole in the 
mountain and ran into another hole. 

“‘Here is the station,’ said my master. 

“I wanted to know what the shiny tracks 
and what the big black holes in the mountain 
were. 

“‘The tracks are for the trains to run over, 
and the holes in the mountain are tunnels. 
There are hundreds like them in the mountains 
of France and Italy.’ 

“‘But what are trains and tunnels?’ I asked. 

“‘The mountains here are so high and steep, 
the trains cannot climb them; so men have 
dug holes to go through them. As for a train, 
you will soon see what that is.’ 

“He had hardly finished speaking when I 
heard a great rumbling and then a loud shriek. 
I clung to my master’s hand in fear that this 
might mean a new avalanche. 

“And then something long and black came 
crawling out of the hole in the mountain and 
stopped just in front of us. It looked like a 
giant snake. Smoke and fire came out of its 


[ 46 ] 


head. I thought of the stories father used to 
tell us of giants and dragons, and I was really 
frightened. 

“‘This is the train I told you of, my boy,’ 
said my master. ‘Come, get in.’ 

“But I tell you I did not like the looks of 
that train; I did not like the idea of getting 
into it, and I tried to run away. 

“I only tried, though, for two rough hands 
seized me, threw me into a little room, and 
shut a door behind me. I found myself in a 
small room, with a long bench on either side. 
There were two little doors at each end, and 
a window at each of the four corners. 

“I sat in a corner 
too much frightened 
to say even a word. 
With another shriek 
the train started. At 
first I could not get 
used to it, but after 
a while I liked it. It 
was fun to see the 
mountains flying by. 
It was only when we 
ran into a dark tun¬ 
nel that I trembled 



[ 47 ] 





again. Soon it grew so dark and I was so 
tired and lonely that I fell asleep. 

“A rough hand shook me awake. I was be¬ 
ginning to learn that my master was not so 
kind as he had seemed to be. I followed him 
out of the train and found that we had reached 
a big city, with lights everywhere and so much 
noise. Then we took another train and I 
slept again. The next morning we were in 
Salu. 

“Here in Salu I have been ever since. It 
has been a horrid time. I have not seen or 
heard from any of my people in all these two 
years, and they don’t know where I am. Poor 
mother, how sad she must be! All I have done 
is work, work, work. Master is very strict. 
He is very cruel, and many a time he beats me. 
He gives me little or nothing to eat. I live in 
a dirty room, have dirty rags to sleep on and 
dirty rags to wear. As you see, it is hard for 
me to be clean or happy. 

“But as soon as I grow a little bigger I am 
going to run away. I have some money that 
kind people have given me. It is hidden, and 
as soon as I have enough I am going back to 
my mountains and to mother.” 

Pietro’s story was finished. Poor little Pietro, 


[ 48 ] 


a hard-working man, when he should have been 
at home playing with his brothers and sisters! 

The Three said goodby to their friend, and 
that night they told their father all about him. 
The next day the gardener was sent to Salu to 
look for Pietro and his master. They were not 
to be found. Master and boys had gone, but 
no one knew where. 


“I hope that he will find his mother soon,” 
said the Three when they heard the news. 



[ 49 ] 







CHAPTER Y 

AN ITALIAN VINEYARD 

C OME, children, it is time to get ready,” 
called Lisa, early one afternoon. 

The Three knew why and hurried to obey. 
They were to spend the day at Padre Giovanni’s 
farm, and that was something to make children 
happy indeed. Padre Giovanni was the man 
who had tried without success to make a gentle¬ 
man of Tom. He was the tenant on one of the 
Nonno’s vineyards, and the children were very 
fond of him. 

The day was one in early October, the time 
for the grape harvest in northern Italy, a gay 
time for both children and grown folks. 

In a few minutes Paolo and his sisters were 
dressed, ready to go. Tom followed them to 
the garden gate, fully expecting to be a member 
of the party. 

“You have eaten too many of Padre Gio¬ 
vanni’s chickens, Tom. You can’t come with 
us,” Paolo said, and at home Tom had to stay. 
When the gate shut behind his little playmates, 



[ 50 ] 





[ 51 ] 
























he barked and howled in despair and lone¬ 
liness. But the barks and the howls were of 
no avail. Padre Giovanni’s farm was no 
place for a dog like him. 

The road to the vineyard led through the 
hills of Salu, and a lovely road it was. It 
wound itself about green hillsides, thick with 
chestnut trees; it passed smiling meadows, 
crowded with cattle browsing peacefully in the 
late grass; it ran along sunny vineyards, rich 
with their wealth of ripe grapes. Far away in 
the distance the Alps showed, with white- 
capped tops hidden in the clouds. Above it 
all shone the bright sunlight in the clear blue 
of the Italian sky. 

As the children walked along, busy harvesters 
stopped in their work to look at them. They 
were never too busy, those kindly peasants, to 
wave a hand or smile a greeting to children 
passing by, or even to offer a gift of ripe grapes. 

“Here we are,” called Clara at last, from her 
place as leader. The gray roof and the dull 



[ 52 ] 


brick walls of a house showed through the 
trees. The lowing of cattle, the barking of 
dogs, and the shrill cry of children were heard. 

The Three were expected and were greeted 
in the hospitable way that never failed them, 
whenever they visited the vineyard. The chil¬ 
dren of the farm ran up to them, and even the 
dogs seemed glad to see them. Some of the 
children looked far from clean; they looked as 
if they had been playing with mud, yet how 
can a boy or girl keep clean while playing on a 
farm? 

Padre Giovanni and his wife were a jolly old 
couple. Like all the peasants of northern Italy 
they were honest, hard-working folk who loved 
their home and their family above all else in 
the whole world. They had many children, so 
many that the Three could never remember 
their names. Some of them were grown up and 
married, with children of their own, but they 
still lived at the vineyard and helped the father 
with their work. 

Padre Giovanni was the chief of his house¬ 
hold. He ruled it with kindness and love, and 
his children gave him love and kindness in re¬ 
turn. 

The farmhouse was a large brick building, a 


[ 53 ] 


homely old place, but clean and well taken care 
of. A large, square courtyard opened out in 
front of it, spotlessly clean always. No wonder! 
Each morning it was swept with long brooms 
made of slender vine-twigs tied together, just 
as if it were the floor of a house. Chickens, 
geese, pigeons, dogs,. and cats felt quite at 
home in the big yard. 

To the left of the house a path led to the 
chestnut and fig groves. The chestnuts were 
huge old trees, and the nuts they bore were 
those great golden-brown ones that roast so 
well and taste so good. American children 
know them as Italian chestnuts and like them 
as well as did the Three, no doubt. Paolo, 
Clara, and Bianca thought it was great sport 
to gather them as they lay thick among the 
fallen leaves, some of them still in their prickly 
nests, opened to show the rich treasures within. 

The fig trees were not so large, though their 
fruit was even better. Boys and girls in America 
know figs only after they have been dried, 
packed into boxes, and sent to them from far¬ 
away lands. Italian children are luckier, for 
they may have the fun of climbing into a fig 
tree and, sitting there among the leaves with 
the sun peeking through, may nibble at a 
feast fit for kings. 


[ 54 ] 


Another path to the right of the house led 
to the chicken houses, the cattle barns, the 
rabbit dens, the pigeon coops, and the pig¬ 
pens; the farm was very well populated. 

The main path faced the house. It ran on 
and on, straight and narrow for about a mile, 
lined on both sides with row after row of grape¬ 
vines, so close together that there was just 
room enough between them for a man to stand. 
All kinds of grapes were there, of all sizes and 
all colors. 

The Three, as was their custom, started on 
a tour of inspection, with the little children of 
the farm as guides. They were taken to see a 
new family of pigeons that 
had just arrived. They fell 
in love with the soft, downy 
things, but Bianca remem¬ 
bered that on a former 
visit she had loved a baby 
chick so hard that she had 
squeezed its life out in her 
hands, and she was very 
careful how she handled 
the pigeons. She was al- 


'a,cfi Tnot»nir^ ti was/ 
swept with lorvf brooms 
made of slender 0 vine- 



hec/ to<febfier>. 


[ 55 ] 


most afraid to touch them or to see Clara hold 
one too close. 

After the pigeons came the rabbits, the baby 
calves, and nine little kittens that had made 
their appearance just the day before. There 
were always new baby creatures to be found at 
Padre Giovanni’s, no matter how often the 
Three went there. 

In their wanderings the children found an 
interesting family — five little guinea-pigs just 
beginning to blink at the light. They were so 
tiny and looked so cunning that Paolo decided 
then and there to have one for his very own. 

“May I take one home with me, Lisette, 
only one little one?” he begged. “We can 
keep him in the nursery and be kind to him. 
I know he will like it.” 

To Paolo’s plea, Clara and Bianca added 
their own, but Lisa was not to be persuaded. 
Yet Paolo had a mind of his own, as we shall 
see later, though he wisely said no more. 

When the farm creatures had all been visited, 
the Three wandered to the vineyards, to watch 
the peasants at their harvesting. What a lively 
picture they found, happy and busy indeed! 
Men and women, boys and girls, little children 
even, worked cheerfully together, for there 


[ 56 ] 


seemed to be much work to be done and no 
time to spare. 

The brilliant colors of the men’s bandannas 
and of the girls’ kerchiefs, waists, and skirts 
stood out against the dark vine leaves, where 
among the shiny foliage gleamed the red, the 
yellow, the blue, and the black of the ripe 
grapes. The picture was beautiful; and to 
make it a happy one, snatches of songs and 
shouts of gay laughter were heard everywhere. 
The children thought they were looking at a 
picnic, not at hard work. 

Here and there great, tall baskets stood 
ready to be filled. It took 
very little time for this to 
be done, and then away they 



. /hen ifie^ai*mcvea~tuv>ej fiad all been incited, 
-us and at* e8 to the wne y cr&cfr, 

[ 57 ] 





went, their place to be taken by others. The 
work had begun with the rising sun and was 
to go on till it sank to rest. In a few days the 
grapes would all be harvested and packed, 
ready to be sent to the cities that were waiting 
for them. 

Paolo and his sisters watched till they grew 
tired. Then they ate grapes till Lisa frowned 
at them. They romped and they played; they 
even helped cut grapes that hung low enough 
for them to reach. The day came to an end at 
last, with the time to go home. 

After all goodbys had been said, Paolo was 
suddenly missed. Lisa and Padre Giovanni 
went to look for him, but came back alone. 
The scamp was nowhere to be found. Lisa 
was beginning to worry, when the wanderer 
was discovered far up on the road that led 
home. 

“He is a hungry boy, in a hurry to get 
home,” said Padre Giovanni, and no one 
thought any differently. 

All the way home Paolo kept far ahead of 
the others. His sisters were too weary to 
wonder why. 

At the garden gate they heard him calling, 
“Little mother, little mother, see what I have 


[ 58 ] 


brought you,” and they ran to see what new 
mischief Paolo had been up to. 

What did they find? Just a little brown and 
white guinea-pig, so little that its eyes were 
still shut tight. Paolo had carried it all the 
way home in his sailor blouse. 

Clara and Bianca were delighted with their 
brother’s cleverness, but not so their father 
and mother. 

The little pig was sent home that very night 
to its mother, who must have been glad to see 
her baby again. 


[ 59 ] 


CHAPTER VI 

NOVEMBER DAYS 

N OVEMBER came, with its cold, damp, 
foggy weather. There is no sadder month 
in Italy than November. It is even called 
il mese dei morli , the month of the dead. 

Day after day the sun kept hidden behind a 
heavy curtain of clouds; night after night the 
Three went to bed hoping that the next morn¬ 
ing would bring with it sunshine and fair 
weather. But each morning their hopes would 
be broken. 

Indeed, it was so cold and wet that they 
were not even allowed to play in the atrio. 
The nursery became their playground, and 
wonderful games soon became possible there. 
Each day the children thought out a new one, 
though the favorites remained hunting the 
wilds and acting fairy tales. 

Little Red Riding Hood, Puss in Boots, 
Cenerentola , 1 all of them they knew and loved. 
At times it was hard for three actors to play 
the many parts of the story, and the aid of 
Lisa and Tom was often enlisted. 

For many a day Little Red Riding Hood was 
1 Cinderella. 


[ 60 ] 


the popular story. The choosing of parts was 
not an easy task to work out, and several hot 
arguments followed before every one was sat¬ 
isfied. 

Lisa was the grandmother, and she seemed 
to enjoy the game as much as her charges. As 
she sat at the big nursery window, with her 
knitting or her sewing, she patiently obeyed 
each word of advice given her as to speech and 
action. 

Paolo was the hunter and stage-director-in¬ 
chief. He told his company what to do, and 
they tried to obey him faithfully. Once in 
a while there would be two or even three 
stage-directors, but that only made the game 
more interesting. 



Clara and Bianca had a 
heated argument as to who 
was to be the heroine of 
the story. It was threat¬ 
ening to become serious, 
when Paolo settled the 
matter. 


“Why don’t you both try 
it?” he suggested. 


/■ 



“But how?” asked precise Clara. 

“Why, that’s easy,” Paolo answered. “We’ll 
have two Red Riding Hoods, one for you and 
one for Bianca. You can start the game, and 
Bianca can finish it.” 

For a few moments the question seemed 
settled. 

“Who will be the Wolf?” was the next 
problem. 

“Tom! Let’s have Tom!” Clara’s eyes fairly 
popped out of her head in her excitement. 

So Tom became an actor. The Three found 
it great fun to train him. And how patiently 
Tom tried to do as he was told! Up and down, 
back and forth, from one end of the nursery to 
the other he stalked, following every beck and 
call from his master and mistresses. One bit 
of acting he did object to strongly. It was 
hard to persuade him to lie on two chairs, with 
a towel wrapped around his head for a night¬ 
cap and one over him for a sheet. With this 
one exception, Tom shared full honors with the 
rest of the company. 

“But the Wolf of the story talks, and Tom 
can’t.” Bianca made this amazing discovery 
and wondered what was going to be done 
about it. 


[ 62 ] 


“Of course Tom can’t talk, sorellina ,” 1 Paolo 
agreed. “One of us will have to do the talk¬ 
ing for him.” 

“Can’t I be the Wolf, then, with Tom, just 
to help him talk?” Bianca suggested hope¬ 
fully. 

“You talk like a Wolf? Your voice is big 
enough only for a mouse, Bianchina.” And 
Paolo and Clara both laughed at Bianca’s 
ambitions. 

“Then Little Red Riding Hood belongs to 
me, and Clara can be the talking Wolf.” 

Thus it was settled, and the play proceeded 
with no further interruptions. 

The Three enjoyed themselves in this way 
for a long time. Yet rainy days 
continued, and they grew tired of 
having to stay indoors. They felt 
like little prisoners, shut up in a 
cage. They missed the garden and 
the romps there in the sunshine. 
So their busy brains began to plan 
all kinds of mischief. 

“Lisa, why do you stay around all 
the time? You really don’t have to, 
1 Little sister. 


■was -[fie funfe-p anP 
age.-(S-LpeoioT-rn-cfi ej: 



[ 63 ] 


you know. We are big now, and if you would 
only let us, we should soon learn to take good 
care of ourselves. 

This speech always made Lisa prick up her 
ears, for it was sure to mean some new trick. 
Yet once in a while the Three succeeded in 
evading her vigilant eye, and then they made 
up for lost time. 

One day they played barber shop. Paolo 
was the barber, his sisters and Tom were the 
customers. 

Clara was the first customer. She wore 
bangs, and they were easy to cut. In a twin¬ 
kling a beautiful zigzag pattern stretched across 
Clara’s forehead. 

Tom was the next in line. His whiskers, 
most of his brows, and bunches of hair fell to 
the unmerciful scissors. 



Bianca was then called 
to present herself. She 
had no bangs, only two 
heavy, long pigtails of 
which she was very 
proud. 


“Let’s cut one of them 
off, Bianchina,” coaxed 
Paolo. “You have two, 



[ 64 ] 


anyway, and you really don’t need them both, 
you know.” 

But Bianchina was not easily persuaded. 
And before further mischief had been done, 
Lisa came in and the pigtail was saved from 
a real danger, for in the long run Bianca might 
have relented for the sake of playing fair. 

Another day the Three played a daring 
hold-up game. They had been hearing tales 
among the servants of the deeds of a man in 
the mountains near Salu, and they tried to 
see how near they could come to him in a 
make-believe. 

They found an old bag in the garden house, 
and they hid it, waiting for a chance to use 
it. The chance soon came. It was decided to 
let Paolo and Clara be the robbers and Bianca 
and Tom the wanderers on the mountain. 

“You are so little, Ninette, you will have to 



[ 65 ] 




be the one to get into the bag. Don’t be afraid. 
We are not going to hurt you.” 

The game proceeded. Bianca was caught, 
put in the bag, tied and left on the floor — 
the road — for some one to find her and rescue 
her. 

Lisa found her. What a funny look came 
into her face, when she opened the bag and 
found in it a very dirty Ninette, hot and al¬ 
most without breath in her little body from 
her sad experience! 

Lisa was beginning to lose patience with her 
charges, when something happened that brought 
peace for a few days. 

The Three were playing a game of hide-and- 
go-seek. Paolo, wishing to hide in a place 
where Clara could not find him, climbed on 
the nursery window sill, clung to the shutter, 
and swung off into space. Bianca was so 
terrified that she grabbed the shutter and 
pulled with all her might. The shutter swung 
back and Paolo tumbled into the nursery ? 
ready to give Bianca a good lecture for her 
interference. But he got up with an ugly cut 
on his head, and the pain of it made him forget 
the scolding. 

The accident subdued everybody for a few 


[ 66 ] 


days, and Paolo, Clara, and Bianca became 
suddenly very good; but their father, knowing 
well that the good spell would last only as 
long as Paolo’s head was bandaged, decided to 
get Paolo a governess who would keep him 
busy and out of mischief. 

One evening, at dinner, the news was told. 

“A teacher is coming for you tomorrow, 
Paolo,” said his father. 

“To teach me to read and write?” 
W I “Yes, and also that it isn’t 

^ ll | safe for little boys to hang 

on window shutters.” 


































Paolo was a happy youngster that night. 

“Think of it, sorelline,” he said to his sisters, 
as they all lay in bed waiting for sleep to come, 
“soon I shall be able to read you all the fairy 
tales that have ever been written.” 

Clara and Bianca were delighted with the 
news, and a little jealous too, that they had 
not been included in the great adventure. As 
they fell asleep, they made up their minds that 
they would ask their father to give to them 
too the teacher who was to show Paolo how 
to read all the fairy tales that had ever been 
written. 


[ 68 ] 


CHAPTER VII 

MAESA COMES 

T HE next morning the new governess came. 

The Three were in the nursery when their 
mother brought her in to meet them. 

“Children, this is Miss Louise, Paolo’s 
teacher,” she said. 

The children looked at the young girl stand¬ 
ing in the doorway, and they liked her with 
that first glance. She had such a bright face, 
and her great black eyes smiled so happily, 
that she won three young hearts even before 
they knew her. One after another, as they were 
presented to the new teacher, 
the children shook hands 
with her. 

“Will it be very long be¬ 
fore I know how to read and 
write?” Paolo never waited 
too long to ask his first ques¬ 
tion. 

“Not if you want to as 
much as that,” laughed Miss 
Louise. 

“Let’s begin now, then, 
Maesa.” 



[ 69 ] 




Maestra is the correct Italian word for teacher, 
but Maesa was the best Paolo could do with 
the word, and so Miss Louise became Maesa 
from that moment. 

“Come, Paolo,” said his mother, “father said 
you were to use the Big Room for your lessons.” 

Clara and Bianca followed their brother to 
the Big Room. They had christened it Big, 
for it was the largest room they had ever seen. 
It was not a cheerful room, not as cheerful as 
the nursery. In those days, when children 
were told to study they were meant to work 
hard; so even the classrooms looked as if they 
meant business. 

A long, wide table stood in the center. Many 
a fine romp had the Three had around it. 
Today it had books, pencils, paper, even ink 
on it. Nothing had been forgotten. Two 
chairs were drawn up to the table, a big one 
and a little one. Paolo’s eyes grew large with 
the wonder of his first lesson, when he saw all 
this array. 

Not so Clara’s and Bianca’s. They stood by 
very glum indeed at having to give up their 
chief. They felt hurt at not being included in 
the new adventure, at not being allowed to 
join him in work as they always had joined 
him in play. 


[ 70 ] 


“Run away now, little girls,” said their 
mother, and they had to obey. 

At the door they turned, and Clara thought 
she would give her brother a last piece of ad¬ 
vice. 

“Be good, fratellino , 1 and do your lessons 
well,” she said. 

The nursery became very lonely without 
1 Little brother. 



[ 71 ] 




















Paolo. The games were not so happy, the 
fairy tales not so interesting. Tom also missed 
him. One evening Clara and Bianca asked 
their father to let them join Paolo, but he 
only laughed. 

“Wait till you are as big as Paolo. You are 
much too little now. Go and play; there will 
be time for hard work later.” 

The two little girls did not think so, how¬ 
ever. After two weeks had passed, they grew 
tired of waiting, and finally they decided to 
take the matter into their own hands. 

With a few soldi 1 they had saved they paid 
a visit to the gardener. He was an old man 
and loved his little mistresses 
very dearly. There was nothing 
he had ever refused them; they 
loved him, too, and they had 
known many happy hours in the 
garden house, where the old man 
kept all his tools and where he 
spent most of his time during the 
winter months. 

As he saw Clara and Bianca 
come down the garden path, he 
went out to meet them. 

1 Pennies. 



[ 72 ] 





“Good morning, signorine, what can La 
Valle do for you this morning?” he called out, 
doffing the old brown cap he always wore. In 
all the years they knew him, the Three never 
saw him without that old brown cap. 

“Buon giorno , 1 La Valle, we need your help 
very badly,” said Clara, with her most serious 
look in her deep-blue eyes. “Will you please 
go to Salu now and buy us two copy-books 
and some pencils like the ones Paolo showed 
you yesterday?” 

“What do you want with them, you two 
babies?” 

“Father won’t let Maesa teach us, so we are 
going to make her,” answered Clara, in her 
determined way. 

La Valle laughed heartily, but he promised 
to obey. 

“Now tell us of your country,” and the two 
perched on his knees, ready for the story they 
knew La Valle loved to tell. 

“I come from Nice, in France, the City of 
Flowers,” he began. “Little ladies, when you 
grow to be big ladies, you must remember to 
go to Nice. It is just a bit of heaven as it 
lies there under the blue, blue skies of the 
1 Good morning. 


[ 73 ] 


sunny South, with the lovely blue Mediterra¬ 
nean at its feet. Such flowers everywhere! 
Daisies as big as my hands, and roses as big 
as my head. At night in the moonlight, the 
sea looks like a sea of gold, where the fairies 
and elves dance.” 

La Valle loved to make things big, but his 
listeners did not know this and believed every 
word that fell from his lips. They listened 
spellbound and wished they were grown up, 
so that they could visit that wonderful South¬ 
land he spoke of. 

At this point, Lisa came searching for her 
charges, as luncheon time was drawing near. 

“Remember, La Valle,” they warned as they 
left him. 

La Valle nodded wisely. That night, Clara 
and Bianca had the precious books and pencils. 

The next morning Maesa had a big surprise. 
As Paolo was about to begin his work, two new 
pupils made their appearance and introduced 
themselves. 

When their father and mother heard of the 
plan, they allowed it to go on — for a while, 
they said. From that day Maesa had three 
earnest pupils in her charge, and there is no 
doubt whatever that she had her hands full 
with them. 


[ 74 ] 


CHAPTER VIII 


WINTER 

M ANY people think of Italy only as a 
land of sunshine and fair weather; yet 
there are cities and towns in Italy that have 
snowstorms, icy winds, and cold days, just as 
America has them. And the little Italian 
children are as happy to welcome the snow as 
American children are. 

One morning in December Lisa woke up the 
Three with the news: 

“The snow, children!” 

In a jiffy they were at the window. Snow 
was falling, thick and fast. Everything was 
covered with a heavy white blanket. The 
garden, the trees, the bushes, all seemed to be 
cuddling in a soft, warm bed, ready for a long 
winter’s nap. 

From the windows of the nursery the whole 
garden could be seen. Overnight it had been 
changed into an enchanted palace. Lisa called 
it the Snow Giant’s kingdom. A huge mag¬ 
nolia that stood in the center looked so tall 
with its burden of snow that she thought 
Snow Giant was a good name for it. The 
small trees round about it were the Snow 


[ 75 ] 


Giant’s soldiers, and the snowflakes falling 
busily everywhere were the good fairies com¬ 
ing to put the giants to sleep, so that they 
would not harm any one. 

The Three tumbled into their clothes, en¬ 
joyed a hearty breakfast, and paid their morn¬ 
ing call to their mother’s room. As there was 
still time before lessons for a romp in the 
garden, they were bundled up till they looked 
like round snowballs and were sent downstairs. 

“Let’s roll down the big staircase; we can’t 
get hurt,” suggested Paolo. But he was per¬ 
suaded not to try the experiment, though he 
was probably right. 

With one dash the Three flew outdoors, Tom 
at their heels. The snow lay so thick that 
they had to be satisfied to stay under the atrio. 
But Tom did not seem to care how thick the 
snow was, and out he bounded into the open. 
He acted as if he had lost his head completely. 
It was the first time he had seen snow, and he 
did not know what to think of it. He chased 
the snowflakes; he rolled round and round in 
the snow; he ran in and out of the trees and 
bushes, begging the Three to follow him. They 
threw snowballs at him. He barked at the 
snowballs and tried to catch them, looking 


[ 76 ] 


very much surprised when they disappeared in 
the snow and he could not find them. 

Just as the fun was at its highest, the chil¬ 
dren saw Maesa coming for them. She meant 
work, and they did not feel a bit like work 
that day. 

“A holiday, Maesa, a holiday today,” they 
called out to her. “Come and play; no work 
today,” they sang. 

“No, children; you have been playing a long 
while and you will have the whole afternoon 
to enjoy the snow. A little work will be good 
for you. Come, the time won’t be long.” 

When Maesa spoke in that tone; the Three 
knew she meant business, and they followed 
her meekly into the house. 

“You will have to tell us a story, though,” 
said Bianca. 

“If you behave well and do your work well, 
you shall have the story as you have it every 
day. And as long as the time is so near Christ¬ 
mas, it shall be a Christmas tale.” 

The promise of a story was enough to make 
three little imps do almost anything, and so 
they promised to work. Sad to relate, that 
day the promise was entirely forgotten. 

In a few moments the children were settled 


[ 77 ] 



[ 78 ] 



































































































at the study table. Paolo was the best stu¬ 
dent; he had made rapid progress and was be¬ 
ginning to read and write. This will be a 
surprise to American boys and girls, who have 
to study a long time before they can read 
books. The secret is that Italian is a very 
simple language and little children learn so 
quickly to read it, that in a few short weeks 
they can read almost any simple short story. 

Clara and Bianca were still at the baby 
stage of drawing lines and reading a, b, c. 
Maesa was really only trying to keep them 
quiet while their brother studied. Yet they 
felt very important and enjoyed their work as 
much as Paolo did his. 

As a rule the Three were attentive little 
pupils, but on that day, in spite of their prom¬ 
ise, Maesa could not make them do anything. 
Their eyes kept wandering to the windows, 
where the snowflakes beckoned; their tongues 
kept wagging about the snow; their pencils 
scribbled and broke. 

Luckily Maesa was a sensible teacher and 
the lesson was cut short. 

“Now tell us the story you promised us,” 
Clara said with the bright, sweet smile that 
always worked wonders for her. 

“And do you think you deserve it?” 


[ 79 ] 


“No, but you are going to forgive us to¬ 
day, for it is snowing.” 

Maesa could not resist that argument; so 
the four friends settled themselves at the big 
study-room window, a window that was like a 
glass door. It opened out on a balcony, and 
from it the Three could see a pretty picture 
of the garden and the snow. 

Miss Louise sat in a big chair. The Three 
made themselves cozy on three footstools at 
her feet. Eyes opened wide, still as mice, 
they listened. 

A Christmas Legend 

Every Christmas night, the Christ Child 
visits the homes of all the children of the world. 
To those who have been good He brings toys 
and candies; to the naughty ones He brings 
only bits of coal and sawdust. 

One Christmas night, long, long ago, just as 
the clock began to strike midnight, the Christ 
Child started on His rounds. The trip from 
His heavenly home to the earth was accom¬ 
plished in a few minutes. When He reached 
the earth, a big storm was raging. The night 
was a bitter cold one; snow was falling, and 
the wind blew in icy blasts. 


[ 80 ] 


The Little Child, as He flew along on His 
errand of love, became chilled through and 
through and oh, so tired! He was beginning 
to fear He could not finish His work, when He 
spied a tiny light glimmering in the darkness 
below Him. 

He flew to it and saw that it came from the 
window of the tiny hut of a peasant. 

“Perhaps the good people hying there will 
give me shelter for a short while,” He thought 
as He went. 

“Who is it?” called a gruff voice from within 
in answer to a timid knock. 

“A little child begging for rest.” 

“Go away,” called out the voice again, “I 
am in great trouble; I can’t open to any one 
tonight.” 

“I am weary and cold and hungry. The 
night is stormy, and there is no other place 
for me to go. A shelter for the night, I beg 
of you.” 

A shuffling of feet was heard. Then the 
door of the hut was flung open by an old man, 
ragged and unkempt 

“What do you mean — ” he began, but the 
words died on his lips. The beauty of the 
Child had dazzled him, and he could say no 
more. 


[ 81 ] 


“You poor little fellow; come in and warm 
yourself,” he said finally, when he regained his 
speech. “Sit down before the fire, and I will 
bring you a cup of sweet milk.” 

The Child drank the milk gratefully. Then 
the old man showed him a bundle of hay in a 
corner of the room. 

“Sleep there, Little Child; it is the best I 
can give you, but I give it gladly.” 

“Thank you, good man.” And the Little 
Child lay down on the hay and fell asleep. 

He did not sleep very long, however. He 
knew that the little children of the world were 
all waiting for Him. There was no time to be 
lost. 

After a short rest the Child rose. He looked 
around for the old man, and saw him sitting 
at a table in the middle of the room. His 
arms were folded on the table, his face hidden 
on his arms. 

The Christ Child could not bear to see any 
one unhappy; so He went up to him and 
asked: 

“What is it, good man? Are you in 
trouble?” As He spoke, He patted the heav¬ 
ing shoulders with a hand like a tiny rose 
leaf. 


[ 82 ] 



[ 83 ] 








“Oh, trouble enough, Little Child! I am 
in great need. Last summer my crops were 
destroyed by a storm; nothing was left. And 
now I have not a cent with which to pay my 
landlord, not a grain to sell. Yesterday my 
landlord threatened to turn me out if I did 
not pay him. It is cold winter outside. Where 
shall I go?” 

The Christ Child thought how kind the old 
man had been to Him. 

“You sheltered me when I was cold and 
hungry tonight,” He said. “Cheer up! A 
kind deed is always rewarded.” 

Before the old man could stop Him, He 
had taken the lantern from the table and was 
holding it to a stack of straw. 

Wonder of wonders! Instead of catching fire, 
the straw became thick with wheat kernels. 
They grew larger and larger, heavier and 
heavier; then a golden rain pitter-pattered on 
the floor of the cottage. Soon the old man 
had more wheat than he had ever seen in his 
whole life. 

“But who are you?” he asked in great 
surprise. 

“I am the Christ Child and this is Christmas 
night. Long have I tarried here. Goodby, 


[ 84 ] 


for I must hurry. The children of the world 
are waiting for me.” 

Before the old man could recover from his 
surprise, the Child had disappeared. 

From that day the old man knew cold and 
hunger no longer. The Christ Child had been 
a welcome guest, and He had left His blessings 
behind Him. 


[ 85 ] 


CHAPTER IX 

THE MARIONETTE THEATER 

T HE marionettes had come to town. For 
weeks the Three had been hearing that 
they were to pay Salu a visit. In the streets, 
moreover, announcements of the great event 
had been seen. 

-o- GIANDUIA THEATER -O- 
-O— 

-DECEMBER 16 TO 20 — 

THE WONDER OF THE AGE 
MARIONETTES TO THE KING 
GIANDUIA 
PULCHINELLA 
ARLECCHINO 
ETC., ETC., ETC. 

ONE AND ALL 
CHILDREN COME 
BRING FATHER AND MOTHER 
UNCLE AND AUNT 
GOOD CHILDREN FREE 


This sign was what made every little boy 
and girl in Salu just wriggle with delight. 
The coming of the marionettes was awaited 


[ 86 ] 


with longing hearts, the same longing hearts 
with which American children wait for the 
circus to come in the spring. 

The marionettes are as old almost as Italy 
itself. They are beloved by the Italian chil¬ 
dren, and sometimes even grown-ups enjoy 
them. In truth, the Marionette Theater is as 
popular in Italy as any other theater, where 
real live people act. 

Three happy youngsters greeted their father 
one day when he came home to luncheon with 
the good news that he had tickets for the 
marionettes. 

Dressed in their prettiest clothes, wrapped in 
fur to their ears, they were ready long before 
the hour set for the great event. 

When their father and mother joined them, 





























they thought their parents the most wonderful 
father and mother in the world. 

“How lovely you are today, Mammina,” 
said Paolo. “May I walk with you?” 

Paolo was a great admirer of his Mammina. 

“I wonder why it is that we were given the 
sweetest and dearest little mother in the whole 
world,” he said to Bianca one day. “I have 
looked at the mothers of all the other children, 
and not one is as sweet as ours.” 

“And father too.” Bianca had agreed with 
her brother, but she had been unable to solve 
the problem. 

Clara joined Paolo as her mother’s escort. 
Bianca, of course, went with her father. The 
two were great friends and loved each other so 
devotedly that it was hard work to separate 
them. 

The theater was gay with the colors of 



[ 88 ] 




















Italy, the red, the white, and the green that 
the Three loved so well. It was full of gleeful, 
laughing children and their parents. 

As the children entered the theater, a little 
boy with a bright silver medal pinned on his 
chest was allowed to go in without buying a 
ticket. He had been a good boy in school, 
so how could he be asked to pay? 

Everywhere about, cheerful faces smiled, 
merry chatter sounded, and bursts of happy 
laughter broke forth unrestrained. All around, 
mothers tried their best to get coats unbut¬ 
toned, caps off, and wriggling little people 
settled in their places. 

“Mammina, look, look! There is Emilia; 
and Peppino; and Teresa and Giulio!” It 
was not easy for Mammina to see and bow to 
all the friends the Three’s sharp eyes dis¬ 
covered. 

Few American children know what mario¬ 
nettes are. Of course they all know what a 
Punch and Judy show is, but marionettes, as 
they are known in Italy, are really much better 
than a Punch and Judy show. 

To begin with, the theater is a real theater, 
not just a little one three feet by four. The 
stage is a real stage, and the marionettes are 


[ 89 ] 


big dolls that look like ordinary people, for 
they walk, talk, sing, laugh, run, play, and 
dance, as live folks do. 

Strings are tied to each big doll’s feet, head, 
hands, even fingers, and these strings are so 
fine that no one from the audience can see 
them. A man or a woman from the balcony 
above the stage pulls the strings — one, two, 
or more at once — and the doll does just what 
its master wants it to do. The voice too comes 
from the man or woman above; yet it sounds 
as if it came from the marionette itself. 

After a long wait, the performance began. 
The orchestra played the “Royal March,” 
the “Star-Spangled Banner” of Italy, and 
every one stood up till the end. 

Before the play started, the actors were 
introduced. Gianduia came first. A wild 
hand-clapping followed his appearance. 

“Gianduia! Gianduia!” The cries were 
heard all over the house, and children even 
stood up on their seats to wave an excited 
welcome to him. Gianduia happens to be the 
buffoon, the funny man of Piedmont. (Pied¬ 
mont is a part of Italy, just as New York 
State is a part of the United States. Salu is 
a town of Piedmont.) The children knew and 


[ 90 ] 


loved Gianduia and were greeting their favorite 
with shouts of welcome. 

Gianduia doffed his three-cornered hat and 
sang a funny song. 

After Gianduia came Pulchinella, the Nea¬ 
politan, with his two humps, one in front, one 
behind. Then came the Venetian, Pantalone, 
in his baggy trousers; then Arlecchino from 
Bologna, he of the many-colored suit. A great 
array of kings and queens, princes and prin¬ 
cesses, fairies and elves followed. Also there 
was a tiny marionette-doll who walked across 
the stage on a tight-rope; a donkey who talked 
and wagged his ears when his master told him 
jokes; and finally, a dog who danced a jig. 

The first act was announced as follows: 

-o- A CONTEST -O- 
WHO IS THE GREATEST BUFFOON 
I N 

THE WORLD 

? 


Each marionette tried his best to outdo the 
others in the feats it performed, and so win 
the coveted honor. They walked on their 
hands, they danced on their toes, they jigged, 


[ 91 ] 


they turned somersaults. There was nothing 
they did not try to do. Pulchinella at last 
won the championship by turning round and 
round on his two humps like a spinning top. 

The next act was the story of Guerin Mes- 
chino, one of the many heroes of legends of 
Italy. He passed through many adventures 
and through numberless battles with Saracens 
and Turks — people with whom Italy has 
fought wars in ages gone by. In all the battles, 
in all his encounters, Guerin Meschino came 
out with colors flying and was in the end given 
the hand of the King’s daughter in marriage. 

Amid great applause the performance ended. 
Happily tired, the Three went home with 
heads buzzing with new plans for games and 
tricks. 

“Father, you must buy us a marionette 
theater, little enough for the nursery,” Paolo 
informed his father as they were walking home. 

“They cost a lot of money, Paolo; why not 
ask the Christ Child for it when He comes 
next week?” 

That seemed a fine idea, and on Christmas 
Eve the Three did as their father had told 
them. 


[ 92 ] 


CHAPTER X 

CHRISTMAS 


O N Christmas Eve the Three went to bed in 
great excitement. For a long time their 
eyes refused to close. Lisa had seen them 
safely in bed; then she had gone, with the 
advice to sleep. 

“For, 5 * she had warned, “if the Bambino 
should come and find you awake, He would go 
away again and not return.” 

Their father and mother had paid their 
nightly visit to the children; they had tucked 
each one in and with many good-night kisses 
had left with the same advice. 

























“Buon Natale , Buon Natale ,” the Three had 
called after them to wish them a Merry Christ¬ 
mas. 

All the warnings had fallen on deaf ears. 
The Three simply would not go to sleep. 

The firelight glow from the dying embers 
threw strange shadows on the walls of the 
nursery. The flickering light from the night 
lamp in the corner seemed alive as it danced 
fitfully in the wind that came from the open 
windows. The moon and stars peeked in 
from a clear, cold Christmas sky. The trees 
in their white snow garments were decked and 
waiting for the Christ Child to come. From 
downstairs, sounds of sweet music floated up¬ 
ward. 

“Father is playing fairy music on his violin,” 
said Bianca. 

“Let’s talk,” suggested Paolo. “Then we’ll 
keep awake and perhaps catch the Christ 
Child at His work.” 

“Do you think we shall get all we asked 
for?” asked Bianca from her nook. 

“And why not?” Paolo answered. “Didn’t 
Mammina say so? And she always tells the 
truth, you know.” 

“Yes, Paolo, but we did ask for so much.” 


[ 94 ] 


Clara’s conscience was troubling her as 
usual. 

“That’s nothing,” insisted her brother. “The 
more we ask for the more we shall get. That’s 
easy.” 

“Yes, fratellino, but don’t you remember 
what Maesa said? That naughty children get 
only coal and sawdust? We have been bad so 
many, many times,” Bianca broke in, in a 
timid little voice. 

“How silly you are, sorelline. Haven’t we 
said we were sorry, and doesn’t that settle 
it? Hasn’t father forgiven us again and 
again?” 

That sounded like a very good argument, 
and for a few short minutes there was silence 
in the room. Then the chatter began again. 

“Wonder how the Bambino rides down to 
earth?” asked Clara in a puzzled tone. 

“In a golden coach, of course,” Bianca 
piped in. “Neta said so, and she knows. She 
saw Him one Christmas night, long, long ago. 
She told me so herself.” 

“Maesa said He flies down to earth, and 
Maesa knows more than Neta,” contradicted 
Paolo. 

“How does He carry the toys, then?” 


[ 95 ] 


“He doesn’t have to, Bianchina. He would 
have too many to carry. Think of it! For 
all the children of the world! All He has to 
do is to say ‘ Pirimpinpin! ’ and the toys are 
there.” 

“Pirimpinpin” was a word of magic powers, 
a favorite of the children’s fairy world. It was 
thought to possess marvelous gifts, to be an 
Open Sesame. 

Little by little the chatter died down. No 
matter how hard the children tried, their eye¬ 
lids grew heavier and heavier, till at last they 
dropped altogether and the Three were asleep. 
Another year went by, another chance was lost 
to see the Christ Child at His work. 

Early the next morning, Bianca was the first 
to open her eyes. In a twinkling she was at 
the foot of her bed, the place where the Christ 
Child is known to leave His gifts. 

“Paolo! Clara!” she cried out when she 
saw what lay before her. 

She did not have to repeat the call. At 
that first cry two other white-clad figures be¬ 
came busy, too. 

Cries of joy and shouts of happiness fol¬ 
lowed. The early morning hour and the fear 
of waking people up were not even thought of 


[ 96 ] 


as the Three tumbled out of bed and joined 
forces on the floor. 

Everything they had asked for was there. 
The big dolls and the trunks full of doll-clothes 
for Clara and Bianca, the soldiers for Paolo; 
a drum, a ship, books, balls, pencils, games — 
what not? 

Best of all, there was a great box which, 
when opened, revealed to three pairs of de¬ 
lighted eyes a tiny theater and tiny mario¬ 
nettes, the same as those seen at the theater 
the week before, only these were much, much 
smaller. Gianduia was there, Pulchinella, Ar- 
lecchino, the King with a crown on his head, 
his wife the Queen, fairies with gauzy skirts, a 
giant of course, and last but not least a few 
dogs and a couple of cats. 

“The Grand Opening of the Greatest Mario¬ 
nette Show on Earth!” Paolo was shouting, 
when the door opened and his father and 
mother appeared, followed by Lisa, who was 
carrying wood for the fire. 

“Well, piccoli , 1 did the Christ Child leave 
anything for you?” 

The racket that greeted this question can 
better be imagined than told about. 

1 Little ones. 


[ 97 ] 


“One at a time, one at a time, please, bam¬ 
bini,” begged their mother. 

It was like begging the wind. The children 
forgot their manners, they forgot everything 
but the joy of Christmas morning. 

“Will you get dressed now?” 

Laughingly the Three started to obey, but 
there was so much to see, so much to do, that 



}{ 

eak-faai, ihtif jmne.3 jfteit 
~fa4fiep and mother and wink wiifi' 
4 > 4he 'jpahhedr^ul. 


[ 98 ] 













it was a long time before they were dressed and 
downstairs for their breakfast. 

After breakfast, they joined their father and 
mother and went with them to the Cathedral. 
Salu has a beautiful old cathedral, built many 
centuries ago. The Three were awed into quiet 
by its size, its lovely colored windows, its dim 
corners, its high arches. 

In the afternoon, Christmas dinner over, the 
Three gave a surprise party. Their father and 
mother had always taught them to think of 
those less fortunate than themselves. They 
had asked for permission to invite the little 
children on Padre Giovanni’s farm to be their 
guests at the villa, and the permission had been 
gladly given. 

The children came, dressed in their best 
clothes, with beaming faces and shining eyes. 
They looked like little men and women, the 
boys with long trousers, the girls, even the 
littlest ones, with long skirts and with bright 
silk kerchiefs tied under their chins. 

At first they were very quiet and shy. They 
would not open their mouths and seemed 
scared to death. But as the minutes passed 
and cream, cakes, and caramels made their ap¬ 
pearance, the fright went and the Big Room 


[ 99 ] 


held only gay, happy children having a good 
time. 

Before going home each received a gift that 
the Christ Child had left for them. With eyes 
shining with joy they clasped dolls and drums 
and soldiers close, as they poured out thanks 
to the Signora who had been so kind to them. 

They started for home singing cheerful songs. 
Their gay voices floated back to the villa and 
made three happy youngsters happier as they 
heard them. 


[ 100 ] 


CHAPTER XI 

THE BEFANA 

T HE Befana! What a strange word! But 
it is not strange to Italian children. To 
them it is as well known as Santa Claus is to 
American children. 

The Christmas holiday season in Italy lasts 
two weeks. It begins on the day the Christ 
Child was born and ends on the sixth of Janu¬ 
ary, the day on which the Three Wise Men 
from the East came to do homage to the little 
King in the manger at Bethlehem. 

The Epiphany, or day of the Three Wise 
Men, is a great holiday for the Italian little 
ones. The Three loved it almost as well as 
they did Christmas. They called it the day of 
the Befana. 

The day is celebrated in much the same way 
that Hallowe’en is in America. The same 
games are played, the same parties are given, 
as on the night of the witches. 

The Nonni had invited the Three to spend 
the afternoon at their home, to be guests at a 
children’s party. Lisa dressed up her charges, 
Clara and Bianca in white, Paolo in a red 
sailor suit that made him look like a little 
prince, she said. 


[ 101 ] 


The great dining room was bright and cheer¬ 
ful when the Nonna led her guests in to the 
feast. And so many children! Of all the 
friends of the Three, none had been forgotten. 
Every one was there, with happy face and 
chattering tongue. 

Paolo and his sisters were the guests of 
honor. Paolo sat at the head of the table and 
looked very tiny indeed, half swallowed up in 
the Nonno’s big chair. A huge painting of the 
Nonno’s father hung behind him and made him 
look even tinier. 

The big table shone with old silver, gleaming 
china, and sparkling crystal. Flowers turned 
it into a garden, and the gay child-faces around 
were sweeter than the blossoms, the Nonna 
thought. 

What the children liked best of all were the 
round tortas 1 waiting on the table, seeming to 
say, “Please eat us.” 

No child needed the invitation. The tortas 
tasted good, and oh, how many surprises they 
held! Gold rings for the brides, thimbles for 
those who were to be poor, money for the lucky 
ones, and what not? 

In a very short time, cakes and cream and 
1 Cakes. 


[ 102 ] 


sweets disappeared, and the youngsters trooped 
into the large atrio. There they found a magic- 
lantern show waiting for them. After that, to 
end up the day, all gathered around the Nonno 
and begged for the story of the Befana. He 
needed no coaxing, but began at once. 

The Story of the Befana 

There is an old, old story that tells of six 
lovely fairies, who were just alike, alike as six 
peas in a pod. They had the same hair of 
spun gold, the same eyes of velvety black, the 
same rose-leaf skin the same teeth of pearls. 
These beautiful fairies lived in a wonderful 
home in the Land of Fancy. They loved little 
children so much that they were always wish¬ 
ing to do something for them. 

One day a great gift came to them, suddenly, 
they knew not how. Perhaps it was the Christ 
Child who had blessed them with it, for He 
too loved little ones well. 

The gift? That any child the fairies thought 
of, or saw, asleep or awake on the day before 
that of the Three Wise Men, might, on awak¬ 
ening the next day, find all it had wished for. 

Not long did the six fairies, as alike as six 
peas in a pod, wait to use their great powers. 


[ 103 ] 


Everywhere, as swift as the wind, they trav¬ 
eled. 

One morning all the children of the world 
woke from happy dreams to find their homes 
turned into Toyland. Dolls, toys, tin soldiers, 
games, nuts and sweets, everything they had 
wished for, were there waiting for them. 

Who had worked the wonder? Father? 
Mother? They said no, and they were known 
to tell the truth. Try as they might, the chil¬ 
dren could never find out who the kind beings 
were that remembered them every year. 

Many hundreds of years went by. On the 
same night of each year, the very same thing 
happened. The children of the world had one 
surprise after another. 

But, alas! The fairies, strange to say, with 
all the traveling they had to do, became at 
last very, very tired. Little by little they be¬ 
came old. One sad day they could no longer 
move from their wonderful home in the Land 
of Fancy. 

They still loved little children dearly, how¬ 
ever; so every day saw them at the windows 
of their palace, looking through powerful glasses 
— telescopes they called them — to see if they 
could find any one who might take their place. 


[ 104 ] 



[ 105 ] 












































One fine day they discovered the person they 
were seeking. It was a little old woman, a 
dear little old woman, who lived all by herself 
in a tiny cottage at the edge of the world. 

The name of the little old woman was Befana. 
She had had another name too, but she had 
lived so long that she had lost it. And as she 
was half blind, she had never been able to find 
it again. 

As soon as the six fairies saw her, they knew 
they had found the very one they wanted. 
Old Befana was still as spry as a young girl, 
in spite of her age. Though she could not see 
very well, that really did not matter much, for 
children were not hard to find. Moreover, the 
little old woman loved all little children, the 
children of the rich as well as the children of 
the poor, the children of the King as well as 
the children of the beggar. 

In a dream, the spirit of the six fairies went 
to Befana. She heard fairy voices talking and 
telling her of the marvelous gifts she was to 
possess. 

That very year Befana took up her work. 
And every year since then the children of 
Italy, and of other countries as well, have 
waited for her on the sixth day of January. 


[ 106 ] 


The children of Italy are lucky indeed, for 
they have two gift days, one almost on top of 
the other. It is a fine thing to have. For if 
the Christ Child happens to forget anything, 
the Befana is sure to remember it. Or if a 
child has been so naughty that the Christ 
Child has left nothing for him, he has plenty 
of chance, in two weeks, to show that he knows 
how to behave himself, if he wants to. 


[ 107 ] 


CHAPTER XII 


A TRIP TO TORO AND THE 
CARNIVAL 

0R0 was a town near Salu. In it lived 



i the Three’s favorite uncle and aunt and 
two little cousins, Letizia and Alberto. 

One evening in February the Three were 
given a bit of pleasant news. 

“Rambini, you have been so good and worked 
so hard with your books, that your mother 
and I are going to take you to Toro with us 
next Saturday. Want to come?” 

The question was asked in a very quiet 
voice, but the answer given was far from a 
quiet one. The Three showed clearly by their 
actions that going to Toro was something to 
be more than happy about. And no wonder! 
Not only would they find there uncle and aunt 
and cousins, but the Carnival of Toro was to 
begin the following Monday. 

There were still two days to be lived through 
before the eventful Saturday. The Three had 
never known such long days. Every one in 
the house was told of the trip. Lisa came 
first; then Maesa, Toinette, Marie, La Valle, 
and even Tom, who did not seem to under¬ 
stand what all the fuss was about. 


[ 108 ] 



[ 109 ] 
















































































































































The day came at last. A bright, sunny day 
it was, soft and mild, full of the promise of the 
early Italian springtime. 

The Three were awakened at dawn, for an 
early train had to be taken at Salu. How im¬ 
portant they felt at being awakened at that 
early hour, when the whole world was still 
asleep! 

As Lisa and her three charges started out, 
the streets were just beginning to wake up. 
They seemed to belong only to the birds, sing¬ 
ing their greetings to the rising sun. The 
children kept them company by chattering 
away as gayly as they. 

Peasants going to market passed now and 
again and smiled and bowed, as they called: 

“Buon giorno , signorini! Buon viaggio e 
buona fortuna .” 

By this they meant: 

“Good morning, little children! A fine trip 
and good luck to you.” 

Lisa had no trouble in keeping the Three 
together that morning. They seemed in a 
great hurry and in constant fear that the train 
might go without them. 

“Are we on time? Is it late yet? Will 
father and mother come in time?” 


[ 110 ] 


These and many other questions were being 
shot at Lisa, who answered them all, or at 
least tried her best to. Poor Lisa! The good 
God must surely have meant her to take care 
of little ones, He blessed her with so much 
patience. 

When at last the station was reached and 
every one was settled, she breathed a sigh of 
relief. 

The trip to Toro was but a short one, and 
the Three had no time to get tired. Indeed, 
they enjoyed every moment of it. 

As the train dashed along on its way, the 
view from the little windows was lovely enough 
to make even children remember it. 

Fields and valleys, one after another, passed 
before them. Some were still sleeping their 
winter sleep; others were beginning to smile 
under the warm rays of the sun. Neat white 
farmhouses, with pretty bright-tiled roofs, flew 
by. Trees all in a row — oh, so many of them! 
— made the children think of the soldiers 
they had seen pass in review before the King 
on the parade grounds. Rows upon rows of 
hills seemed to beckon to them from the dis¬ 
tance, and far, far away, lofty mountain 
tops glinted in the sun. 


[Ill] 


The train made many stops on the way. 
The towns and hamlets looked very old and 
quaint, as they lay peacefully basking in the 
sunshine. Many of them, almost all of them, 
had one old castle at least, overlooking the 
town from a hillside. In these old castles had 
lived the feudal lords of long ago. 

Uncle Sandro and the two cousins were 



ver>y old ocnd^zcaini. 


C H2] 





















awaiting their guests at the station of Toro. 
Uncle Sandro was an officer in the army. He 
looked very tall and handsome in his uniform. 
Letizia was a real little Italian beauty, with 
great, dark eyes and hair the color of mid¬ 
night. Alberto, on the contrary, was fair like 
his mother. 

To see them and to fly to their arms took 
only a moment. The Three were very fond of 
their uncle, for he still knew how to play just 
like a boy, and never seemed to be grown up 
at all. 

Greetings over, Lisa and the children were 
packed into one carriage and sent on ahead. 

Toro is a dainty little city, quite modern in 
spite of its age. Like Salu, it was built by the 
Romans. As it nestles in its circle of green 
hills, it looks very lovely indeed. 

There was great excitement in Toro that day. 
The streets were gay with people and bright 
with bunting and decorations for the coming 
Carnival. . The large piazzas, or squares, were 
busy with workers. Grand stands and little 
stands, merry-go-rounds, barracks, and theaters 
of all sizes and shapes went up all around under 
the ceaseless beating of hammers. 

The Three watched in great excitement and 


[ 113 ] 


almost fell head first out of the carriage half 
a dozen times. 

“Lisa, you will take us to see everything — 
do you hear? — everything! We must not *- 
miss even one place,” Paolo declared, and Lisa 
promised to obey orders. 

Aunt Clelia was smiling a welcome at the 



[ 114 ] 


>n \ 



gate of her garden when the carriage full of 
children arrived. She was treated to the same 
noisy welcome Uncle Sandro had received, 
but the greetings lasted but a moment, for the 
Three were dragged away by Letizia and Al¬ 
berto, who were anxious to show the treasures 
of their nursery. 

Two days followed, full of happy games and 
long walks through the country around Toro, 
with a great deal of talking about the wonderful 
times coming. 

Monday dawned clear and warm, a perfect 
day for the great event that was to take place, 
the Children’s Parade on the Corso. 

Early in the afternoon each child was dressed 
in a masquerade costume. Paolo and Alberto 
looked gay and handsome, each in a page’s 
suit of satin, with feathered caps set rakishly 
over a wig of curls, as they danced attendance 
on three proud little ladies, Clara, Letizia, 
and Bianchina, quaintly lovely in their long 
velvet gowns and tiny velvet caps. 

Proud as lords, they all set off in a carriage 
full of blossoms and sweets and confetti. 

The Corso Vittorio was in gala attire. Bunt¬ 
ing of every hue made it look like a flower 
garden. Crowds in holiday attire lined each 


[ 115 ] 


side. Soldiers and carabineers, the mounted 
police of Italy, rode up and down to keep the 
crowds from getting into the way of the passing 
carriages. And these were filled with children 
in the costumes of Gianduias, Harlequins, 
shepherds, knights and ladies, princes and 
buffoons, their hands full of flowers and sweets, 
which they threw to the crowd. 

Not only the children of the carriages were 
in costume. In and out among the people in 
the streets flitted gay figures of boys and men, 
in bright silk and plumed hats. The children 
thought they looked just like the princes and 
the singers of their fairy world, who might 
have stepped out of the pages of fairy books 
to make them happy for a day. 

Music, flowers, songs, and laughter were on 
every side; happiness was all around. 



[ 116 ] 









When the children returned home, the be¬ 
loved costumes did not have to be put away. 
They were kept on throughout the day, for the 
dinner and for the evening festa, when the 
house was opened to many little friends and 
Uncle Sandro gave a marionette show. 

“It is even better than the one we saw in 
Salu,” Clara said. 

“Of course; Uncle Sandro is giving it.” 
Bianca found a quick answer to almost any 
problem. 

After the performance Paolo, Clara, and 
many of their friends fell asleep, and they did 
not even remember who had put them to bed. 

The next day was Mardi Gras, the’ last day 
of Carnival. Mardi is the French word for 
Tuesday, and Mardi Gras is the Tuesday 
which comes just before the first day of Lent. 
From early morning till the stroke of mid¬ 
night, every one is gay and jolly. After Lent 
begins there is no more merry-making till 
Easter-day, and that is a long way off. 

Lisa, as she had promised, set out early in 
the afternoon with her Three and their cousins, 
to take them to see everything, in accordance 
with Paolo’s royal command. They found a 
great racket in the streets. The whole of Toro 


[ 117 ] 


had been turned into a circus. Laughter, fun, 
and merriment were the kings of the day, and 
those who liked it all best were the little ones. 

The monkey theater was the first place 
visited. Trick monkeys performed for their 
guests and seemed to enjoy the shrieks of 
laughter they caused. Then came the wild 
animals, the acrobats, the tight-rope walkers 
across the Piazza Garibaldi; nothing was left 
out. 

Tired out, they were tucked into bed that 
night by a no less tired-out Lisa. 

“We have lived with the fairies, haven’t 
we, sorelline?” said Paolo sleepily. “Wouldn’t 
it be fun to do it all the time?” 

“If I were a fairy, I’d like to be a real little 
girl, once in every little while, wouldn’t you, 
Bianca?” asked Clara, who thought life was 
very nice as it was. 

But Bianca was already far into Dreamland, 
and she gave no answer. 


[ 118 ] 


CHAPTER XIII 


SPRINGTIME IN THE LAND OF 


FLOWERS 


FEW weeks after the Three returned 



-l\- from Toro, spring in all its beauty made 
its appearance. 

There is nothing else so lovely as the Italian 
springtime. At least, the Three thought so. 
There is loveliness everywhere. The hillsides 
are covered with trees in bloom, the woods are 
filled with blossoms of every hue, the soft 
breezes are sweet with perfume, the air rings 
with the song of birds and the laughter of 
children. 

Each morning, as the Three wandered through 
the gardens, they found new joys, new surprises. 



[ 119 ] 


In the dark, cool, wet corners, in the hidden- 
away nooks, the drip, drip, drip of water told 
them that the bits of ice and snow they had 
seen there only a few days before were fast 
melting away under the warm rays of sun¬ 
shine. They crept everywhere, those fairy 
sprites, and would not let even one bit of 
winter stay. 

Fuzzy brown caterpillars, with bright red 
or yellow spots hidden in the brown, crawled 
along dark twigs, enjoying the soft spring air 
as much as the children who watched them. 
It was fun to see them crawling, crawling, 
swinging from one twig on to another. 

The plants of the gardens shook themselves 
awake from their long winter’s nap and dressed 
themselves up in the loveliest green of new¬ 
born leaves. 

The first tree to put on its spring frock was 
the great magnolia in the center of the gar¬ 
den, the snow giant of winter days. In a few 
hours, it seemed, it became covered with hun¬ 
dreds of blossoms, white as wax. It looked as 
if it wanted to fill the garden with its beauty. 

Then a peach tree budded into life. One 
morning the children found it pink with bloom. 
A sunset cloud had surely lost its way the 


[ 120 ] 


night before and become tangled in the 
branches. 

Plum tree followed the peach. 

“Are they running a race?” Clara asked La 
Valle one day. 

“It seems so, bimba ,” 1 he laughed. 

And then the flowers began to smile their 
“good morning” when the children went each 
day to see how they were thriving. 

By the middle of March the daily walks 
through the hills of Salu were begun once more. 
Sometimes Lisa went along, sometimes Maesa. 
Maesa had a delightful way of taking the 
Three for a walk and calling it a lesson. She 
told her pupils the name of every tree, blossom, 
and singing bird. She knew them all and 
loved them, as she loved the green fields and 
blue skies, and she made the Three love them 
as well. 

Clara and Bianca never forgot to carry 
baskets with them on these walks. Empty 
though the baskets were when they started, 
they always returned them to their mother 
filled to the brim with sweet offerings. It 
was easy to work the miracle in the hills of 
Salu. 

1 Little girl. 


[ 121 ] 


Primulas, little yellow blossoms so called be¬ 
cause they are the first to appear, gleamed gold 
among the grasses. Violets of every hue — 
white, yellow, pale blue to deepest purple — 
tried their best to hide under heavy green 
leaves, but bright eyes found them everywhere. 
Their fragrance, also, revealed the hiding places. 
And lilies-of-the-valley, tall and slender, lifted 
their dainty heads in the mossy green nooks 
that were crowded with them. 

These were the favorites. But there were 
others not to be overlooked. Blue forget-me- 
nots blossomed by the brooks; pink and white 
margheritine dotted the fields and the meadows; 
and later poppies and cornflowers peeped out 
from the golden wheatfields. 

Little by little, under the magic touch of the 
sunshine and with the loving care of the old 
gardener, the gardens at the Villa Grande grew 
and thrived till they were a mass of color and 
brightness. 

Violets, pansies, forget-me-nots, verbenas, 
mignonette, tulips, lilies, roses, jasmine — all 
together they mingled until the red, white, 
blue, orange, and purple turned the flower 
beds into so many rainbows. 

The work of La Valle, as he dug and planted 


[ 122 ] 


and grafted, fascinated the Three. They 
wanted a chance to dig and plant, also. With 
La Valle’s promise of help they each became 
one day the proud owners of a plot of ground. 
The plot was not very large, it is true, but big 
enough for any kind of experiment. 

La Valle initiated the children into the mys¬ 
teries of things a-growing. They dug holes, 
sowed seeds, watered the plot faithfully each 
morning, and watched and waited, oh so long, 
for the first signs of life. 

The reward came. One morning tender bits 
of green leaves appeared. What excitement 
those green leaves brought! How proud the 
three youngsters were of them! But the plants 



[ 123 ] 


grew so slowly, so very slowly! Paolo was 
more patient, but Clara and Bianca wanted to 
pull the little plants to make them grow faster. 

“How do they stick in the ground so well?” 
Bianca asked La Valle one morning. “What 
holds them?” 

“Well, you see, piccola, each little plant has 
roots like tiny feet that help it to stand up.” 

“Roots? Feet? How many feet?” 

“Many, many of them.” 

“What do they look like?” 

“Like hairs. Some of them are as fine as 
your own golden hair, little one.” 

Roots that were like feet and feet that were 
like hairs seemed strange things to Bianca. 
She puzzled a long time about them and at last 
made up her mind that La Valle was just telling 
a funny story to keep a little girl quiet. 

That night she told Lisa all about roots and 
feet, and what La Valle had said about them. 
Lisa laughed and said La Valle was right. Still 



[ 124 ] 


Bianca was not satisfied; so she decided to find 
out for herself. 

Early the next morning, before Lisa came, 
she crept out of bed, dressed herself as best 
she could, and went down to the garden. 

In a few minutes she was kneeling by the 
flower bed that belonged to her. 

She took hold of a little plant and pulled; 
but alas, it broke. The next shared the same 
fate. Then she decided to dig around and 
around with her fingers. This time the plant 
came out safe and unhurt. The slender roots 
showed themselves, and Bianca found out 
what they were like. 

“But they don’t look like feet and they are 
not golden,” she thought to herself. “La 
Valle told me a story.” 

Then one after another the little plants all 
came out and were put aside. Not one of them 
Had feet, not one had roots of gold. 

Now Bianca tried with all her might to put 
them back into the ground again. But the 
task was too great for tiny fingers, and she was 
very near to tears at the havoc she had wrought, 
when La Valle appeared on the scene. 

“What is my little Queen doing out so early 
this morning?” he asked. 


[ 125 ] 


Bianca told him what she had done and why. 
And also what she thought of people who did 
not tell the truth. 

“Marie says that every story you tell keeps 
you out of heaven for one hundred years,” 
she finished. 

La Valle did not laugh. He* knew his tiny 
mistress would never have forgiven him if he 
had. Instead, he took the little girl on his knee 
and explained all about the roots, till she 
understood. 

“Never touch them again, bimba, or they will 
die and never have the pretty flowers that will 
surely come if only you are patient,” he said. 

Together, Bianca and La Valle put each 
plant back where it belonged. 

“Now run back to bed, piccola,” La Valle 
said as they finished. 

Bianca obeyed, and no one saw her slip into 
the nursery. A long time passed before any 
one knew of her morning adventure. 


[ 126 ] 


CHAPTER XIY 

THE SOLDIERS AND THE ITALIAN 
FOURTH OF JULY 

S PRINGTIME brought not only flowers, 
sunny days, and country walks; it brought 
also the soldiers, and as the Three were de¬ 
voted little lovers of the army, they welcomed 
them as much as they did everything else. 

A low stone wall ran along one side of the 
garden. If the children leaned over the wall, 
they could easily see what went on below. 
From it they had also a fine view of the bar¬ 
racks which had been built in the fall, but which 
had been empty all the winter. 

Early in April the soldiers moved in. One 
morning Paolo, Clara, and Bianca heard a 
lot of talking. Commands were being given, 
orders shouted; horses’ hoofs were beating a 
merry tattoo on the cobblestones below; wheels 
were clattering along. 

The Three ran to the wall and looked over. 
The soldiers they had been waiting for so long 
had come at last. What a merry going and 
coming! It certainly was moving day. 

“Evviva i Bersaglieri! ” 1 Paolo shouted, and 
his two sisters joined him heartily. 

1 Hurrah for the Bersaglieri! 


[ 127 ] 


The small red service cap with the red tassel 
had told the children soon enough that the 
troops were the beloved Bersaglieri, one of the 
crack regiments of Italy. 

The soldiers looked up and smiled. Then 
the Three recognized some of the officers and 
waved so excited a welcome that they almost 
toppled overboard as they did so. The officers 
seemed as glad, for they waved and smiled 
back at the three youngsters who looked so 
happy to have soldiers for neighbors. 

The moving went on all day. Many, many 
soldiers went up the hill road, and with them 
went the patient army mule, dragging heavy 
carts full of barrack furniture — trundle-beds, 
tables, chairs, bags, boxes, supplies of all 
kinds. 

In a couple of days the Bersaglieri were settled 
in their new home, and then the drilling of 
recruits began. 

Italy has a law, under which every man has 
to serve in the army for two years at least. 
It seems a hard law, yet it has made a man out 
of many a Simple Simon. Moreover, every 
man in Italy, except the lazy ones, seems to 
think of his soldier days as among the hap¬ 
piest in his life. So it cannot be so bad, after 
all. 


[ 128 ] 


In the morning, at five o’clock, the bugle 
played the reveille, the wake-up song. For 
a few mornings the Three heard it, too, but 
after those few days they became used to it 
and went right on sleeping. Not very good 
soldiers, were they? 

At eight o’clock each morning the drilling 
began. At times it took place in the barrack 
yard, at times in the road by the garden wall. 
Both places could be seen from the garden; 
so each morning found the Three watching at 
their post. 

At the beginning of the new game Lisa 
watched with her charges, for fear they might 
fall over the wall. After a few days she was 
well satisfied to leave them in the care of big 
Tom, so big now that when he stood up on his 
hind feet he was bigger than any Bersagliere. 

“Take good care of them, Tom,” she would 
say. 

Faithful Tom watched his little 
friends well indeed. It is true that 
he kept one eye on the soldiers, for 
he too liked to see them drill; but 
his other brown eye was on the 
children, and it could see a lot that 
was going on. As soon as one of 


\e MOepsagliQi^e 



[ 129 ] 


the Three leaned over too far, he would grab 
a bit of clothing in his teeth and give a good 
hard pull. 

“Haven’t you better sense than that?” he 
seemed to say in his doggy way. 

Now and again the Three would start to 
tease, just to see him get excited, poor fellow. 
They became so very bad at times that his 
barks of terror brought Lisa running, to see 
what the trouble was. 

But to go back to the soldiers. How funny 
they were when they first began! Most of 
them were country boys, or boys from the 
mountains near Salu. They had faces as round 
as the moon and as pink as a baby’s. Their 
eyes were round, too, and many looked scared 
to death. Perhaps it was the first time they 
had been away from home, poor fellows. 

In their new uniforms, most of which were 
too big or too small for the owners, they looked 
foolish and felt foolish. 

After many an effort, the soldier-line looked 
pretty straight. 

Then: 

“Attention!” came the order, sharp and 
quick. 

Not an eye moved, not a head. Some toes 


[ 130 ] 


turned in, instead of out, it is true, but how 
was a poor fellow to remember everything at 
once? 

“Salute!” was the next order, and then the 
fun began. 

The boys saluted, or at least they tried to. 
The task was far from easy, judging by re¬ 
sults. 

At the command, Gianni’s hand shot up to 
his head so fast that Gianni’s hat flew high 
in the air. But Gianni’s eyes never left his 
officer’s face. 

Tonio’s hand went up to his nose and there 
waited for some one to come and push it 
farther. 

Pietro’s hand covered his face like a curtain. 
Poor Pietro, he was indeed a funny sight. 
Try as he might, he just could not salute and 
keep his mouth shut at the same time. 

Michele’s hand pointed to the blue sky 
above, and Giaco’s to the brown earth below. 

To watch them was as jolly as going to a 
Pulchinella show. Once in a while the Three 
even forgot to be polite and laughed. But the 
officers did not laugh. Far from it. They 
talked, they begged, they stormed, they 
shouted. Again and again teacher and pupils 


[ 131 ] 


tried, till even the worst Tonio of all was per¬ 
fect. 

“Break ranks!” at last brought relief to 
every one. 

The next day the lesson began once more, 
for most of the boys had forgotten it. They 
were just like a class of children in school. 

Day after day the lessons went on, and the 
audience of three children and one dog was 
always present. So used to it did the officers 
become, that if any of the four were not on hand, 
a note would be sent later in the day to inquire 
for the missing one. 

A few weeks passed, and the young fellows 
began to show signs of improvement. They 
looked brighter, happier, cleaner. They saluted 
in good form, they stood at attention still as 
pokers, they marched in time to the music, 
they trotted their Bersaglieri trot in perfect 
time. 

“A/ passo , al trotto /” 1 The commands were 
obeyed on the instant. 

The last week of May brought great excite¬ 
ment to the barracks. Shoes, hats, and guns 
were polished till they shone; suits were brushed 
till not a spot remained. Everything took on 
a holiday look. 

1 Walk! Quickstep! 


[ 132 ] 


The first Sunday of June was the cause of 
the excitement. The day is the Festa dello 
Statuto , the celebration of the granting of the 
Italian Constitution — the Fourth of July of 
Italy, as it were. 

Early that morning the Three awakened to 
the sound of music. The Bersaglieri were 
practicing for the last time the martial airs 
they were to play in the afternoon. 

The review was to be held in the Piazza 



after* Jay the lessons iAj&nion.anJlke audience t 
'he children and one J03 was always presg 


[ 133 ] 









d’Armi, the Square of Arms. The Three, with 
Lisa, started out early to see it. 

Salu was in gala attire that afternoon. 
Thousands of flags of Italy —the red, white, 
and green — waved in the wind. Flying from 
every balcony, from every public building, was 
to be seen the sign of free Italy, Italy that but 
a few years before had been groaning under the 
heel of a foreign oppressor. 

The streets were crowded with people all 
going to the same place. There were gentle¬ 
men in high silk hats; ladies in spring finery; 
children in dainty white frocks skipping gayly 
along in the care of nurses who seemed to have 
a very hard time keeping them in sight. Some 
of the nurses wore their holiday costumes — 
dark skirts, brilliant waists, 
white aprons, and huge rib¬ 
bon bows on their heads, 
the long streamers floating 
behind them. 

Peasants from the moun¬ 
tains and country places 
round about had come, 
some for miles and miles, 
to see what Italy had done 
for their figli soldati . 1 How 
1 Soldier sons. 



[ 134 ] 



picturesque those peasants looked! There were 
young girls from Castel Delfi, with big sun- 
bonnets of real old lace, shirred and fluted 
and stiffly laundered. The older women had 
strings and strings of dorini about their necks. 
Dorini are round beads of thin gold leaf, some 
as tiny as peas, others as big as walnuts. A 
few of the women had as many as ten or 
twelve of these strings. The more they wore, 
the richer and older was the family tree. 

The Three were lucky in having friends who 
lived in a house near the Piazza. From the 
windows they had a fine view of the Rivista . 1 

Line after line of soldiers stood waiting for 
the general who was to review them. The 
Cavalleria 2 was there, tall soldiers on horse¬ 
back, with polished steel 
helmets that gleamed in the 
sun and made their wearers 
look even taller than they 
really were; the Bersaglieri, 
in their plumed hats; the 
Alpini , 3 in jaunty feathered 
caps; and the Fanteria , 4 
the regiment of small men, 
but as good as any of the 

1 Review. 3 Alpine troops. 

2 Cavalry. 4 Infantry. 



[ 135 ] 


others. Riding up and down the sides of the 
Square went the Carabinieri, spick and span 
and seemingly very proud of their strange tri¬ 
angle hats, decorated with a red, white, and 
blue pompon. 

A bugle sounded. The fanfare played. Then 
the “Royal March” began. Every line 
straightened; every man stood motionless at 
attention; every eye looked straight ahead. 
The general had come and the Rivista had 
begun. 

At a given command each line moved forward. 
One by one they filed by, some walking, some 
trotting, others galloping. As they watched, 
the Three thrilled with pride in them and in 
the Italy that had such fine soldiers to defend 
her freedom. 

The parade over, they went home with 
hearts glowing with love for Italia. 

“Oh, if only I were grown up,” sighed Paolo, 
as he walked along beside Rianca. 

“Why? What would you do?” 

“Oh, bella ! 1 I’d be a Rersagliere, of course.” 

“Rut the Rersaglieri have to go to war, 
and sometimes they get killed.” 

“Yes, but il Nonno says it is an honor to 

1 Well, well! 


[ 136 ] 


die for your country, when your country needs 
you.” 

“Anyway, you will have to wait ever and 
ever so long, fratellino. You are so little.” 

“Not if Italia Bella 1 needs me, sorellina 
mia,” answered the gallant little fellow. “In 
1848 and 1860, .even little boys were soldiers, 
you know.” 

My beautiful Italy. 



[ 137 ] 





CHAPTER XV 

A PICNIC TO THE SAGRA 

J UNE in Italy, as well as everywhere else, 
is the month for outdoors, for picnics, for 
long walks. The Three stayed outdoors, at 
times, from early morning till late afternoon, 
wandering through the woods. They were 
fine walkers, small as they were. 

There were many places they had never been 
to. One of these was the Sagra, an old, old 
chapel perched on the top of II Monte, a low 
mountain peak not very far from Salu. 



0 old cfiapef pon ih .9 
JL TYlonia . 


[ 138 ] 













Their father and mother had often been up 
there. They were great mountain climbers, 
and the Three many a time had asked to go with 
them. 

“Wait till you grow bigger,” their father 
and mother had always answered. So neither 
Paolo nor his sisters had ever been members 
of the happy parties that would sometimes go 
wandering over the Alps for two or three days 
at a time. But the stories they heard made 
the children long to go, and they kept on 
begging. 

A day finally came when they were con¬ 
sidered big enough to go as far as the Sagra. 

At exactly four o’clock they were awakened, 
before even the sun was up. That was rather 
a hard beginning; yet they were playing at 
being grown up, and so they got up and dressed 
in time with the others. 

The atrio was full of people who were all to 
be members of the party. A gay crowd it 
was, — uncles, aunts, big friends, little friends, 
— and every one chattering and making a 
dreadful lot of noise. It looked as if they were 
to have a gay time of it. 

Paolo, Clara, and Bianca soon found their 
friends. Even Tom was not to be alone; an- 


[ 139 ] 


other big dog had come, and the two were hav¬ 
ing a great time tumbling each other around. 

Two little donkeys stood at the garden gate, 
loaded to their ears. 

“What are the donkeys for?” Clara asked. 
“And what are they carrying?” 

“They are carrying goodies for dinner. 
People get hungry when they walk, and we 
have a long way to go.” 

That was good news. 

At last all was ready and the party started 
out, each one carrying a stick to help himself 
with, going up the steep hills. 

Just then the sun came out to keep the 
wanderers company. The day dawned clear 
and bright. Not a single cloud marred the 
summer sky. 

The children walked along, merry as birds, 
so fast at times that they always led the crowd. 

“Not so fast, children, not so fast!” some 
one would call to them. “You will soon grow 
tired, if you don’t go more slowly.” 

But the warning fell on deaf ears. Up and 
up they climbed, not even thinking of being 
tired. Up farther and farther they went, till 
the path became so narrow that there was just 
room enough for one person at a time. 


[ 140 ] 


“Don’t go too near the edge, or you will 
fall,” Maesa warned, but no one needed that 
warning. Every one, big or little, was very 
careful to keep his eyes on the path. 

Toward noon the top of the Monte was 
reached. The Sagra was in a quiet, lonely 
spot. Here and there an old ruin stood crum¬ 
bling to pieces. Near by was the home of the 
caretakers of the place. That too was old, 
built centuries before. 

Away off to one side rose an ancient tower. 
It looked very unsteady standing there al- 



[ 141 ] 





most on the edge of the Monte, seeming to 
look over to see what was happening below. 

A young man and his wife were standing at 
the door of the house as the big party came 
into sight. 

“Come in, come in,” they said in welcome. 
“You must be tired after your long walk, 
and hungry too. It will take but a short time 
to prepare a meal.” 

“But we have our dinner with us,” answered 
the children’s father. “Only let us cook it; 
that is all we want.” 

“That is easy indeed.” 

“And have you a table large enough for all 
of us?” 

“No, but we have wooden horses and boards 
in the yard. We can soon make one.” 

Then every one became busy. Some started 
.to build a table, others worked with the dinner; 
all seemed to be having fun aplenty. 

“Now run along, children,” and Clara, 
Bianca, and their friends went in search of 
adventure. 

“Bianca, Maria, Emilia, Clara,” they heard 
voices calling. “Come up here all of you and 
see how lovely it is.” 

The girls looked around, but they could not 


[ 142 ] 


see Paolo, though they were sure they had 
heard his voice. 

“But where are you?” 

“Up here, ’way up here,” came voices far 
above them. 

They looked up and discovered Paolo and 
his friends on the top of the old tower. The 
boys had found a winding, rickety old stair¬ 
case, and had lost no time in using it. Luckily 
Maesa was with them. 

Bianca, Clara, and the others, not to be out¬ 
done by the boys, followed them up. 

No wonder even Paolo had said it was lovely 
up there. Clara and Bianca felt, when they 
stood on the tower, as if they were hanging 
between earth and sky. At their feet the 
mountain swept down hundreds and hundreds 
of feet to the valley below, ’way, ’way below, 
so far that the farmers in the fields looked like 
tiny black specks. Little bits of houses, chapels, 
and farms dotted the hills and valleys for 
miles* and miles. 

A white road stretched out so straight that 
it looked like a ribbon of light. A river flowed 
where the sun, playing with it, turned it into 
silver. Round about stood the Alps, stern and 
forbidding, like giants guarding some treasure. 


[ 143 ] 



[ 144 ] 








Flocks of goats and sheep wandered over the 
mountain sides, the tinkle of their bells min¬ 
gling with the song of the shepherd and the 
sound of falling water, which showed as a 
gleam of white among the trees. 

Little as they were, the Three could not 
help watching the picture, for it was a beauti¬ 
ful one, and Italian children love beauty as 
much as do their parents. 

But then a sound came that made them 
forget picture and beauty and made them 
remember only that they were very hungry. 
A big bell, the call to dinner, was heard, and 
down the rickety stairs, with shouts and laugh¬ 
ter, tumbled the crowd. 

The table, big enough for everybody, looked 
more than inviting, set under the trees and 
loaded with good things to eat. The children 
were as hungry as little bears and ate every¬ 
thing in sight. There was just enough left 
when they were through for Tom and his dog 
friend to have a good feast. 

The day passed in play and happy times till 
the call came to go home. Still eager, the 
children started. But even children can get 
tired of play, and Clara and Bianca proved 
it. How did they reach home? Fast asleep 
on the backs of the two little donkeys. 


[ 145 ] 


CHAPTER XVI 


A HAILSTORM 

T HE day was a stifling one in the middle 
of July. Not a breath of air was stirring 
the trees, and the cloudless sky was hot and 
dry. 

Long before noon the Three, with Lisa and 
Maesa, had started out in search of coolness. 

“If a storm should come up, be sure to stop 
at some farmhouse. Don’t try to reach home, 
if you are too far away.” 

The Three had heard their mother give this 
warning to Lisa, as they started out. After¬ 
ward they remembered it. 

The hills were much cooler than the plains, 
and the children walked on as far as the spring, 
one of their favorite nooks in the woods. The 
spot was a pretty one. A stream of clear, cold 
water gushed out of the hillside and gave the 
place its name. It not only gave drink to 
thirsty throats but kept the spot delightfully 
cool, even on the hottest of days. 

Luncheon over, the children felt so tired that 
while Lisa and Maesa talked and read, they 
curled up and went to sleep. But in a very 
short while Lisa shook them awake. They 


[ 146 ] 


opened sleepy eyes and were surprised to see 
how dark it had become. 

“What is the matter?” they asked, their 
eyes growing big with fright. 

“It looks like a storm,” Lisa answered. 
“Come, we must hurry home before the rain.” 

Paolo, Clara, and Bianca were wide awake 
and out on the road before Lisa was through 
speaking. But home was far away, and a storm 
was certainly brewing very, very near. A cold 
wind had suddenly sprung up. Dark, black 
clouds, heavy with rain, were hurrying from 
the mountains. In the distance the low mutter 
of thunder was heard. 

“We shall never reach the villa in time,” 
said Maesa. “The Cascina Rossa 1 is near by. 
Let us hurry to it and wait there till the storm 
has passed.” 

The Cascina was reached in a few minutes. 
It was an old farmhouse, but a cheerful place 
just now, glowing in its best summer dress. 
The apricots showed rich and golden, the 
peaches were almost ripe, the apples, the plums, 
and the grapes would soon be ready for the 
harvest. The wheat had been cut and gathered 
into the barns ready for the thresher. 

1 The Red Farmhouse. 


[ 147 ] 



The peasants greeted the party with smiles 
of welcome. 

“We are glad to give you shelter,” they 
said. “The storm is to be a heavy one. Come 
in and wait.” 

They ushered their guests into a big room, 
the dining room, living-room, and kitchen all 
in one. A great black fireplace at one side of 
the room, with two huge black pots hanging 
from tripods, made the Three think of the 
witches’ caldrons that Maesa often put into 
her stories. 

In the center of the room stood a long table, 
dark and shiny with age and use. Many 
chairs, as old as the table, waited around, one 
chair for each of the grown folks. Children 
seldom sit at the table in 
an Italian farmhouse. After 
getting their bowl of polenta 1 
1 Corn-meal porridge. 




[ 148 ] 



and milk, or of insalata, l the little ones usually 
scamper off to a favorite nook of their own to 
eat—it may be the front stoop, the barn ladder, 
or the green fields. 

Each place at the table was marked by a 
wooden bowl, a wooden spoon, and a wooden 
fork. In the middle of the table stood another 
bowl, much, much bigger than the others. 
Dinner was still far away, but the table was 
set and waiting. 

The raftered ceiling also was blackened with 
age and by the smoke of many centuries. Each 
rafter was turned into a pantry. From one 
hung long salami, the delicious Italian sausage 
that one can get only from an Italian peasant. 
From others hung bunches of red and yellow 
peppers, drying for the winter; onions braided 
together; golden corn and other vegetables. 
Many of the rafters held the big loaves of 
bread, the main food of Italian peasant folk. 
These loaves are baked only once or tvVice a 
week, and are placed up there to keep them 
out of the way of hungry children, perhaps. 

“Are you not hungry, signorini?” 

Paolo, Clara, and Bianca thought the ques- 
1 Salad. 


[ 149 ] 


tion a welcome one, and they hastened to take 
the seats offered to them at the table. 

In a few moments a delicious luncheon was 
set before them. There were bowls of milk, 
heavy with cream and still warm from the 
milking. There were dainty cheese patties 
made from goat’s milk; and very inviting 
they were, served on cool green vine leaves. 
Brown bread with the sweetest of home-made 
butter was there, too. Everything tasted so 
good that for a while the brewing storm out¬ 
side was forgotten. 

But the Three were soon reminded of it 
again. A glance at the windows and at the 
open door showed that the peasants had been 
right in saying the storm was to be a heavy 
one. 

Rolling black clouds looked threateningly 
down on the earth. The wind that had so 
suddenly sprung up had as suddenly died 
down again. Not a leaf stirred, not a bird 
twittered. The only sound was the low growl 
of the thunder, which at times rolled and 
crashed and roared till the very ground was 
shaking. Now and again a swallow darted 
out of its shelter to skim the ground in its low 
flight; but frightened at the darkness, it would 
fly back to the nest it had left. 


[ 150 ] 


A blinding flash of lightning, a deafening 
clap of thunder, and the storm started. Big, 
round drops of rain began to pitter-patter on 
the dust outside, scattered at first, then thicker 
and faster, till the rain came down in sheets 
on the parched and thirsty earth. 

If that had been all, how grateful the earth 
would have been for the relief the rain had 
brought. But that was not all. The hail, 
that dreaded scourge of northern Italy, came 
that afternoon, and none of those who lived 
that day will ever forget it. 

Just as the storm seemed about to blow 
over, heavy light-gray clouds came tumbling 
over the mountains. The peasants turned 
pale. They knew what those light-gray clouds 
meant. They knew only too well. 

“La tempesta! Dio ci salvi!” 1 they prayed. 

Some prayed, some wept. The Three stood 
by, too frightened even to ask what it all 
meant. 

In a little while they knew what the matter 
was. Small white balls began to fall thick 
and fast. They did not seem so bad at first, 
but as the minutes passed they grew bigger 
and bigger.. From the size of a pea, they be- 
1 The hail! May God help us! 


[ 151 ] 


came like marbles, then like pebbles, and still 
they grew bigger. Later Paolo found one 
hailstone as big as a small egg. 

Down they came without mercy or pity of 
any kind. They seemed so many fiends, 
wicked, cruel, bent on destruction. They beat 
down the pretty green leaves of the trees; 
they tore the peaches, the plums, the figs, the 
grapes, and knocked them dying on the ground. 
They even killed the little birds in their nests 
where they had been so happy. 

In fifteen short minutes, everything lay on 
the ground, torn, broken, trampled. And then 
all was over. Once more the sky became blue; 
the sun smiled as before. But oh, on what 
a different world! From midsummer to mid¬ 
winter in fifteen short minutes! The ground 
white as though covered with snow, the trees 
bare, the fields laid waste! 

Is it any wonder those poor peasants stood 
as if turned to stone with grief? Their hard 
work of many months was all wiped out. 
Nothing was left on their farm. 

“Let us thank God that the wheat is cut and 
safe in the barns,” said one old woman. That 
was the only word spoken. 

A wagon took the Three to the villa. They 


[ 152 ] 


were very quiet and very sad. The world had 
been so beautiful that morning; now it was 
dead. 

“I wonder what has happened to our 
flowers,” said Paolo. But his sisters said 
nothing. They were afraid even to think of 
that. 

When they reached home, what a wreck they 
found! Their garden, their beautiful play- 
land of flowers, lay white and shattered under 
the merciless hailstones. The roses were dead; 
the jasmine bower, under which they had had 
so many happy lunches, was a mass of ruins. 

The Three rushed to their mother, who was 
anxiously awaiting them, and in her arms they 



[ 153 ] 




sobbed out the grief with which their hearts 
were filled at the havoc the storm had wrought. 

“But, mother, why, why did it have to 
happen?” asked Bianca, in a heart-broken 
little voice. 

“God sends troubles as well as joys, piccola. 
We must not complain. Think of the poor 
peasants. They are the ones to be pitied, not 
we. They have worked so hard, and now they 
have nothing left. Think how poor and miser¬ 
able they will be this winter.” 


[ 154 ] 


CHAPTER XVII 


AT THE SEASHORE 

T HE Three were such unhappy youngsters 
when the storm wiped their beloved garden 
away, that to make them forget their troubles 
their father and mother decided to take them 
for a month’s vacation to the Italian Riviera. 

There was much bustling about, there were 
many hours of traveling. Then Paolo, Clara, 
and Bianca woke up early one morning in a 
small, white room that was full of sunshine. 

“Where are we? How did we get here?” 
they asked each other, sitting up in bed to 
look around. 



[ 155 ] 








‘ 4 Lisa, Lisa!” they called, and as she came 
in, they remembered the long journey, the 
train, how tired they had been at the journey’s 
end, and how they had all fallen asleep. 

In a twinkling they scampered out of bed 
and ran to the windows to find out what the 
sea was like. 

“Tomorrow we shall all bathe in the sea,” 
their father had told them the day before. 

“In the sea? Is the sea like a bathtub?” 
Clara had asked. 

“Something like it, only so much bigger that 
we shall all go in together,” had been the 
laughing reply. 

Now, as the Three stood at the windows, 



[ 156 ] 



















the sea lay before them in the magic beauty 
of the Mediterranean, blue as sapphire, golden 
as sunshine where the sun touched it, wide, 
lovely, never ending it seemed. 

“It looks like the sky,” Clara said. 

“Or like a field of cornflowers,” Paolo added. 

From another window there were glimpses 
of the lovely shore line, of the dark hills and 
rocks rising straight out of the water. 

“It is more beautiful than Salu, isn’t it, 
Lisa?” asked Bianca. 

Bianca was right. The Italian Riviera is a 
very beautiful place. It is that part of the 
Italian peninsula that lies by the waters of 
the Mediterranean and near the city of Genoa. 

Noli was the name of the little village the 
Three were looking at. It was a fishing place, 
with narrow, crooked streets, lined with 
weather-beaten old houses, baked brown by 
the sun of many centuries. Summer cottages 
and pretty villas had been built both along 
the shore and on the green hillsides. 

Lisa hurried her charges into their clothes, 
and they were ready in record time. 

In the breakfast room a big surprise was 
awaiting them. Uncle Sandro, Aunt Clelia, 
Letizia, and Alberto were sitting at the table, 
looking very much at home. 


[ 157 ] 


“And when did you come?” asked Bianca 
from her perch on her uncle’s knee. 

“Last night, just as three little sleepyheads 
were put fast asleep into bed,” laughed Uncle 
Sandro. 

“And are you going to be with us all the 
time?” 


“If your father 
doesn’t put us out, 
we shall.” “ But where 
will you sleep?” prac- 
"K tical Clara asked. 



haifi houses 
siood a[( in a vow. 




[ 158 ] 






“That’s easy. You, Paolo, and Bianchina 
here can sleep in the cellar, and I’ll sleep in 
your room.” 

The Three knew then that he was teasing 
as usual. 

Breakfast over, they went exploring the 
new home. The house had plenty of bright, 
cheerful rooms, enough for everybody, and a 
garden full of palm trees, orange and lemon 
trees, and flowers of every shape and color. 
Shady gravel paths wound in and out, well 
kept and delightful. One path led to the shore. 
Another ran alongside the sea, overlooking it. 

About ten o’clock, Lisa took the children to 
the bathing beach. Tiny bath houses stood all 
in a row, waiting for the bathers. Even at that 
early hour the sea was full of bathers, and it 
did not take long for the Three and their 
cousins to join them. But that first day they 
did not enjoy their bath any too well. How¬ 
ever, little by little they began to love bathing 
and swimming and romping about in the sea, 
and after a while it was hard work to get them 
away. 

The bagnino — that is, the life saver — 
became a stanch friend. He had been a sailor, 
had traveled over many seas, had seen almost 


[ 159 ] 


the whole world. He was burned dark by the 
sun of many countries and looked very hand¬ 
some, with his flashing black eyes and white 
teeth that gleamed like pearls as he talked and 
laughed with the children. Boys and girls on 
the shore listened to him by the hour as he 
told of his adventures, while he helped them to 
build towns of sand and bridges of mud. 

The early afternoons were spent in sleep. 
Everybody sleeps for an hour or so after dinner 
in very hot countries. This is called the siesta, 
which means “rest.” 

After the siesta came another bath, 
and then long walks along the rocky 
shore, in search of sea treasures — 
stelle marine , 1 ricci di mare , 2 
and seashells. These last 
fascinated the Three. 

“Put the shell to your 
ear,” the bagnino had told 
1 Starfish. 2 Sea-nettles. 



[ 160 ] 






them. “If you are as still as a fairy, you will 
hear the song of the sea nymphs.” 

The children really believed that the sound 
they heard was the song of the sea fairies. 

The fishermen of Noli lived in tiny huts. 
The Three and their cousins liked to visit 
them, as they worked busily away, some mend¬ 
ing nets, others weaving new ones, and still 
others packing fish that was to be sent off to 
Genoa. 

Each evening the boats put out to sea. 
Sometimes thirty or forty of them went to¬ 
gether. The young boys often went with 
their fathers, and the mothers would stand on 
the shore and watch till even the tiniest speck 
had disappeared. 

One morning the children got up early 
enough to see the boats come in. It was a 
pretty sight to see the bright-colored sails 
blown by the wind, the boats turned into magic 
vessels by the sun as they came in from the 
far away. 

The few weeks passed like lightning. Just 
as the Three were about to bid little Noli 
goodby, the village festa took place. For a 
day Noli arrayed itself in holiday dress to do 
honor to its favorite saint. 


[ 161 ] 


On the great day all the people of the vil¬ 
lage seemed to be gathered together, in the 
village piazza, or square. From early morning 
till late at night they were there, taking part 
in all the contests, the races, the songs, and 
the dances. 

The Three, of course, were there, too. One 
contest held them spellbound. It was called 
climbing the Tree of Plenty. Five poles stood 
on one side of the piazza, tall and polished and 
waxed till they were as slippery as glass. On 
the top of each pole hung a large earthen jar, 
filled with all kinds of goodies — chickens, 
hams, sweets, what not? For two soldi any 
one in the crowd could have the goodies. But 
he had to climb the 
Tree first, and then he 
had to break the jar 
with a stick he carried 
in his mouth as he 
climbed. 

It was hard work, 
yet many tried it. 
Some went up one 
foot, some two. Others 
would almost reach the 
top, only to come 





[ 162 ] 



whizzing down at ex¬ 
press speed. How 
every one did enjoy 
it! When, after many 
an effort, five young 
fejlows did succeed in 
getting the coveted 
jars, gay cheers fol¬ 
lowed the victory. 

In the evening the 
children were allowed 
to sit up to see the 
illumination. About 
eight o’clock the vil¬ 
lage was turned as if 
by magic into a fairy 
city. Hundreds and hundreds of lanterns 
burned everywhere among the trees. Strung on 
wires criss-crossing the streets, thousands of tiny 
lights gleamed in the shadowy night. 

And the sea! Numberless colored lights 
floated on its surface, and as they appeared 
and disappeared with the waves, they looked 
like water-lilies made of fire. Dark boats, 
with dark sails flying, glided in and out among 
them. Happy people filled them, singing 
happy songs. Now and again a boat brilliant 



[ 163 ] 






[ 164 ] 




























with lights came up. Was it the Queen of 
the Lilies come out of the waves to visit her 
subjects? 

Later the moon rose from the sea and made 
the soft sand into a carpet of gold for the 
fisher folk, as they danced and whirled about 
in the figures of the folk dance of Italy, the 
Tarantella. 

That night as they slept, the Three dreamed 
of nothing but lights, lilies, and fairy boats 
floating in the moonlight. 


[ 165 ] 


CHAPTER XVIII 


IN THE ALPS 

P ACKING was going on, in preparation 
for leaving the seashore and returning to 
Salu. Though happy at the idea of seeing 
Salu again, the Three did not enjoy the thought 
of leaving little Noli. 

Then a letter came that changed things. 
“What is il Nonno saying that you look so 
happy, Mammina?” Clara asked. 

“He wants us to visit him at the Eremo 1 
for two weeks.” 

“Of course we are going,” said Paolo. 

“It seems so from the way you speak,” his 
mother laughed happily. 

The Nonno’s home, the Eremo, was far up 
in the Alps, near France. The Three had 
often heard their mother speak of the place, 
but they had never seen it. They knew that 
the Nonno loved it so much that he even lived 
in it, at times, during the cold winter months. 

The trip from Noli to the Eremo was a long 
one. It took the Three from the Riviera, 
with its warm sunshine and glinting sea, high 
up into the mountains, the highest in Europe, 
x The Hermitage. 


[ 166 ] 


with tops white with snow and sides covered 
with pine woods. 

At the little station of Aosta the Nonno was 
waiting. He took the Three in his arms and 
kissed them and held them close, as if he could 
never let them go. 

“And now come,” he said finally, “the 
Eremo is waiting for you.” 

Pietro, the Nonno’s old servant, who had 
grown up with him, drove the party up the 
road that led to the house, a steep mountain- 
road with cliffs frowning on one side and a 
deep precipice on the other. 

After an hour’s ride, the Eremo was reached. 
It had a good name, for it stood all by itself, 
very stern and very quiet. Pine trees, great 
old trees, centuries old, stood round about, 
grim and forbidding. The place had once 
been a convent of monks and the Nonno had 
bought it from them, for he liked its solemn, 
lonely look. 

The Three found the house as strangely 
silent inside as it had been outside. There 
were great, high walls that ended in darkness; 
marble stairs that told children not to run or 
they would fall; white, ghostly marble figures 
that gleamed in dark corners; tall windows 


[ 167 ] 


that looked like those of the cathedral at home. 
For a few days Paolo and Ins sisters felt lost 
in the big place, but the Nonno soon made 
them forget their fear and awe, and after those 
few days the Eremo became a new home to 
them. 

The Nonno took his three little friends into 
every room, into every corner. He told funny 
stories of the Three’s mother, when she was 
little, and these stories made the children 
love their Mammina more than ever. 

The tall peaks that rose high and steep 
about the Eremo were the Nonno’s great 
friends, as he called them. 

“See, children,” he said, pointing to the 
highest one of all. “That is Mont Blanc. 
It rises on the boundary line of Italy and 
France, and is the highest peak in Europe. 
Many people have died trying to climb it. 



[ 168 ] 














And that other high mountain yonder is the 
Gran San Bernardo. There the monks of 
San Bernardo Jive in their convent and train 
dogs to save the lives of the lost wanderers on 
the Alps.” 

“Will you take us to see the dogs?” Bianca 
asked hopefully. 

“No, Ninette, I am sure your legs would 


[ 169 ] 


never carry you so high. The road — or path, 
rather — to the place is very steep.” 

“When are you all going?” The Three 
knew well that their father and mother would 
soon start climbing. 

“Tomorrow morning. But as we are to start 
at three o’clock, when little folks are still 
asleep, you will not even see us go.” 

“And what will you bring us?” 

“Oh, many things. Dolci di Svizzera , 1 fiori 
d’ltalia , 2 and a San Bernardo puppy, if you 
want it.” 

The next morning, when the Three awoke, 
the party had gone. Lisa took her charges on 
a long ramble through cool, shadowy pine- 
woods in search of cyclamens, the wild moun¬ 
tain blossoms that bloom thick and fragrant on 
the slopes of the Alps. 

Evening came, but the Nonno had not yet 
returned; so the children had a lonely dinner 
and then were sent to bed, their hopes of seeing 
the new puppy gone for the day. 

The next morning the Three heard that the 
wanderers had returned at midnight. They 
went in search of their grandfather and found 
him in his garden. 

1 Swiss candy. 2 Flowers of Italy. 


[ 170 ] 


“Did you bring us the candy? And the 
flowers? And the puppy?” they asked all at 
once. 

“Didn’t you want a story too? Sit here and 
I’ll tell it first. You shall have candy and 
flowers and puppy later.” 

The Three settled themselves, Bianca on her 
Nonno’s knee, Paolo and Clara at his feet. 

“We started very early,” he began. “It 
was still night and a fine rain was falling, as 
we got into the carriage for the ride to San 
Remy.” 

“It wasn’t raining when we got up,” said 
Clara, interrupting. 

“I knew the rain would stop,” continued the 
Nonno. “Here in the mountains a morning 
rain never lasts long. About five o’clock a 
high wind blew all the clouds away, and the 
day dawned bright and beautiful. Every peak 
grew rosy or gold under the sun’s good-morn¬ 
ing kiss, every pine shook itself awake and 
smiled a welcome to the new day. 

“At nine o’clock we reached San Remy. 
We had breakfast at the small inn there, for 
we were both cold and hungry from the long 
ride. 

“After breakfast we started up the moun- 


tain on foot. The path from San Remy is so 
steep that no horse can climb it. The only 
animals that do climb it are the mountain 
mules that carry supplies up to the friars. 

“We climbed till twelve. Toward the end, 
the path became very slippery from the newly 
fallen snow. Just before reaching the convent, 
we came to a large stone, lying by the road. 
It had a huge pair of shears carved on it.” 

“What are they for?” Paolo asked. 

“They mark the very spot that divides Italy 
from Switzerland. The Gran San Bernardo 
is not in Italy, but in Switzerland. 

“On the stroke of twelve we entered the 
gate of the hospice. The monks welcomed us 
and invited us in to dinner. We were indeed 
glad to accept, for the long walk had given us 
a hearty appetite. 

“A delicious dinner was served us, but when 
we asked for the bill, the friars only smiled. 

“‘We want no money for a kindness to a 
fellow traveler,’ they said. ‘If you give us 
something to help our hospital, we shall be 
glad of your offering.’” 

“They must have lots of money,” said 
Paolo. 

“No, they have not. They spend all they 


[ 172 ] 


have in taking care of the people they find 
lost on the mountains in winter.” 

“When I grow big, I’ll go to the San Ber¬ 
nardo every day for my dinner,” Clara said. 
“Then I won’t have to spend any money for 
eating.” 

“Yes, young lady. But I am afraid you will 
have to spend it in buying shoes,” laughed 
her grandfather. 

“Dinner over, the friars took us through 
their home. It is a wonderful home, high up 
near the sky, with the world lying at its feet.” 

“But don’t they ever get lonesome?” Bianca 
asked. 

“No, they are too busy to be lonesome. 
They have their house and their chapel to 
take care of, and their dogs and their garden.” 

“A garden? You said it was so cold up 
there that the snow lay on the ground. How 
can a garden grow in the snow?” 

“But the garden is all covered with glass, 
and so flowers and vegetables can grow there 
the whole year through.” 

“What else do the friars do?” 

“In winter, very often, they have sick people 
to take care of, the people the dogs find on the 
Alps, at times buried deep in the snow.” 


[ 173 ] 


“Did you see the dogs?” 

“Yes, indeed, we saw them. There were 
many of them, perhaps thirty or forty; great, 
big, fuzzy animals, as big as that Tom you 
tell me of and that I am soon going to see. 
They seemed very happy to see us, and wel¬ 
comed us in a boisterous dog way. Each ani¬ 
mal carried a small case tied about its neck. 
These small cases are filled with medicine, 
when the dogs go out in search of lost people. 
One dog there has saved as many as thirty 
lives.” 

“Then did you come home?” 

“No. Before we left for home, we were 
taken to see the convent chapel. The friars 
are very proud of it, and justly so, for they 
have built it themselves. The pews and the 
woodwork all around are hand-carved and 
show the patient work of many years. 

“At sunset we bade the friars goodby, bought 
a few things at a little store, and then came 
home.” 

“And what did you buy in the store?” asked 
Bianca, hopefully. 

“Come and I’ll show you.” 

The Three needed no coaxing. In the house 
they found the chocolate, the sweets, the 


[ 174 ] 


mountain edelweiss, and a San Bernardo puppy, 
a dear, frolicking little creature, with great 
brown eyes, soft as velvet, rough brown hair, 
and a tongue twice as long as its body — at 
least, it looked so every time it came wriggling 
out to kiss one or the other of three adoring 
new friends. 

64 May we keep him?” Clara asked. 

“Surely; it is yours.” The Nonno believed 
in never refusing anything. 

But at the end of two happy weeks the 
Three were persuaded to leave the new pup 
behind. 

“Tom would eat him up,” said their father, 
and that was a fearful thing even to think of. 
So the puppy was left at the Eremo until he 
could grow large enough to play safely with 
big Tom. 


CHAPTER XIX 


A TRIP TO AMERICA 

O CTOBER found the Three again in Salu, 
busy with study, work, and play. 

For a few short years their life of bright, 
happy childhood was spent at the Villa Grande, 
in the sweet companionship of one another and 
of their father and mother. Year by year their 
parents grew nearer and dearer to them, as 
they shared work and play with them. 

' Then one day the Three said goodby to 
Italia, the beloved land of their very young 
days, and sailed away for a new land called 
America. 

Lisa, their faithful nurse and companion, 
went with them, for she loved them too well 
to stay behind. But Tom, the great dog- 
friend, stayed in Italy, for he was too big to 





go traveling. He was 
missed for many a day, 
and he missed his three 
little friends, too. 

“Tom looks for you 
everywhere,” their uncle 
wrote. “He seems to grow 
old, now that you children 
are no longer here to play 
with him.” 

The first stop on the 
long journey was Paris, 
the great French capital, so 
big and noisy that it made 
the Three’s heads ache. 

From Paris the children went on to Havre. 
They had not been told where they were going, 
and they wondered where their father and 
mother could be taking them to. 

On the train to Havre they found out. 

“Tomorrow morning we shall take a big 
ship to America,” their father told them. 

“To America?” said Paolo. “But that is 
where the Pelli Rossi 1 live.” 

“Yes,” laughed their father, “but America 
has also its big cities, its schools, its little chil¬ 
dren who look just like you.” 

1 Redskins. 


[ 177 ] 






Yet even that speech did not entirely satisfy 
the Three or scatter away their fears. The 
thought of the Indians of their storybooks 
still bothered them. They talked it over and 
over among themselves and wondered what 
could be the matter with their father, that he 
was taking them away from their beautiful 
Italy, to a wild land where the Indians lived. 

The sight of the big ship waiting for them at 
Havre gave them a new surprise. The roomy 
cabins, the long deck, the wide stretch of water, 
and the heavy storm that tossed the ship about 
like a leaf in the wind, filled the world with new 
things for seven days. 

The last piece of news was given one morn¬ 
ing at breakfast: 

“Children, you will have to learn English.” 



[ 178 ] 



“English? And what is that?” 

“A new way of talking,” explained their 
father. 

“Don’t people in America understand 
Italian?” 

“A few of them do; not very many. Most 
of them speak English.” 

“What fun,” said Paolo. “We’ll run a race 
to see who learns it first.” 

One sunny morning the ship entered the big 
harbor of New York. As they stood on the 
deck, the Three knew that America had big 
cities too, bigger than those of Italy. 

The next day their American life had begun. 


[ 179 ] 



= = 

| CHILDREN OF THE WORLD | 

| A series that opens up to young readers the studies of | 

geography and history as living subjects 1 

i I 

| PAZ AND PABLO —A Story of Two Little Filipinos | 
By Addie F. Mitchell. Illustrations by Elias Goldberg. | 
95 pages. | 

The two children do all the things which Filipino § 

children do, and their little adventures are so interest- | 

ingly told by a former teacher in the Philippines that | 

boys and girls of this country in grades three to five | 

will be anxious to know more about the land of Paz | 

and Pablo. | 

SUNSHINE LANDS OF EUROPE 

By Lenore E. Mulets. Illustrations by Elias Goldberg. | 

159 pages. | 

Four charming little stories about Sancho, the Portu- | 
guese lad, and his life on the sea; about little Fernando | 
of Spain, and his visits to famous places of his native f 
land; about Jacques and Odette, the French children | 
who received such interesting letters from their father | 
who went to the war; and about Amerigo who traveled | 
all over Italy and finally made the long journey to | 
1 America. | 

Specially drawn maps add greatly to the value of the | 

book. Intended for supplementary reading in grades i 

four to six. 

1 THE ALO MAN— Stories From the Congo 

By Mara L. Pratt-Chadvuick and Louise Lamprey. | 
Illustrated. 170 pages. I 

Folk tales related by a wandering story-teller to the | 
children of a chief, are interwoven with the everyday | 
experiences of a Congo village. For grades four to | 

seven. | 

WORLD BOOK COMPANY 

Yonkers-on-Hudson, New York 

2126 Prairie Avenue, Chicago f 

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CHILDREN OF THE WORLD 



PAZ AND PABLO I 


A STORY OF TWO LITTLE FILIPINOS 


By Addie F. Mitchell 

With Illustrations by Elias Goldberg 


T HIS little book begins a new series of books for 
young readers which are designed to open up 
to them the study of geography and history as 
living subjects. 

Paz (Peace), the little girl, and her brother Pablo (Paul), 
are real children; they and their baby sister do all the 
things which Philippine children do, and what they do 
is told so interestingly that American boys and girls 
in grades three to five will be anxious to know more about 
them. The author tells of conditions of living and the 
customs of the people. Other attractive information gives 
the children of this country useful knowledge of a far¬ 
away land. 

The stories of the Wonderful Woman, the Ongloc Man 
and Quicoy, the Firefly, the Moros, the Opening of School, 
the Ticbalan and the Balete Tree, the Maestra’s Visit, the 
Last Day of School, all help to make the life of these 
children of the Orient so plain that children’s imagina¬ 
tions soon make them feel as if they were there, too, play¬ 
ing with Paz and Pablo. 

Price 80 cents 


WORLD BOOK COMPANY 

Yonkers-on-Hudson, New York 
2126 Prairie Avenue, Chicago 


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| CHILDREN OF THE IVORLD 

I SUNSHINE LANDS OF 
I EUROPE 

By LENORE E. MULETS 

\ COLLECTION of four charming little stories about 
the children of France, Italy, Spain, and Portugal 
which give the American child a vivid interest in the 
lives of his little far-away friends, and lend attraction to 
the geography and history of the lands described. 

Each story gives a sketch of a particular country interwoven with 
an account of the experiences of a child who lives there. There 
is just enough adventure to prevent the incidents from appearing 
| commonplace to the active American child. 

Sancho, the Portuguese lad, tires of living on his father’s farm 
and longs for life at sea. His travels with his mother give op¬ 
portunity for a description of his country which will present to 
children many facts of value. 

Little Fernando from Spain roves the length and breadth of his 
native land, visiting the cities, the factories, the orchards, the 
mines, and the mountains. The young reader is given a splendid 
| ide*i of romantic and sunny Spain. 

Jacques and Odette, little French patriots, receive letters from 
their father who went to the war. Here the child gains sympathy 
for these little people of France and acquires information about 
f their country which is well worth while. 

Amerigo travels all over beautiful Italy, seeing many of its 
famous cities, and learning about its wonderful past. His 
| journey to America with his father gives opportunity for the 
| relation of his experiences. 

Sunshine Lands of Europe may be used as a supplementary text 
in reading, geography, or history by any grade from four to six, 
inclusive. Specially drawn maps and 75 illustrations by Elias 
Goldberg add greatly to the value of the book. 

I Boards. Price $1.00 

g 

j WORLD BOOK COMPANY 

Yonkers-on-Hudson, New York 
2126 Prairie Avenue, Chicago 


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CHILDREN OF THE WORLD 

THE ALO MAN 

STORIES FROM THE CONGO 
By Mara L. Pratt-Chadwick and \ j . Lamprey 

T HIS story of a Congo village deals with that most 
interesting part of Africa where the Bantu tribes live. 
The action revolves around a wandering story-teller, the 
Alo Man, whose many quaint stories of the folk-lore type 
are the delight of the children of the village. 

These tales, with the descriptions of the customs and indus¬ 
tries of equatorial Africa are skillfully introduced so that they 
add much to the story without destroying its continuity. 
Adventure is furnished by a fishing trip, an elephant hunt, 
a big trading expedition preceded by a palaver, and the 
attempt of an Arab slave trader to raid the village. 

Those who enjoy the Uncle Remus stories will 
delight in the story-teller’s folk tales of beast, bird, 
and human life. The accounts of the customs of 
the people, of the games the children play, are 
accurate in every detail. 

This is the only geographical reader on Africa suited 
for grades four to seven. The folk-lore stories in the 
book afford material for story-telling to children in 
the lower grades, who will be charmed with the 
repetition, the simplicity, and the action 
that are characteristic of the Alo Man’s 
tales of animals and their adventures. 
Trice $1.00 


WORLD BOOK COMPANY 

Yonkers-on-Hudson, New York 
2126 Prairie Avenue, Chicago 
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INTERAMERICAN GEOGRAPHICAL READERS 

A Central American Journey | 

By ROGER W. BABSON 

TTERE is a geographical reader for grade five or six, dealing with 
I"' I a perfectly new field, being a children’s book based on the big | 

| -*■ adventure of big business in the Central American export field 

| The family of an American business man accompany him on a tour of 

| Central America. They have many friends there and see not only 

| the customs and scenery of the country but the way in which people 

| live in their homes. Moreover, they see how our foreign trade 1 

| should be handled to bring about closer relations with our country and I 

| theirs, and learn many picturesque and more or less amusing facts 

| about the mistakes which have been made. 

| While the interest of the book lies primarily in the things the children 1 

| see and hear and do, rather than in any definite plot, there is plenty of | 

= incident, as they visit a gold mine, cacao, coffee, and banana plants- | 

| tions, a balsam forest, and Indian villages; they travel in unfrequented | 

| regions and experience two earthquakes. 

The two Carroll children, boy and girl, have become intimate with a | 

| little Central American girl, daughter of a professor in one of the uni- | 

| versities, and have learned Spanish from her. The practical ad van- | 

| tages of a knowledge of Spanish are brought out in the course of the 

| Gtory. 

| The tendency of the book is to give American children not only an in- | 

| terest in this picturesque region, but the right view of its people. 

| A part of the educational value is derived from the fact that without | 

| much direct instruction, the importance of accuracy, correct informa- 

M tion, system, and practical experience, and ability, in foreign trade, is i 

| shown. 

EE E 

| The illustrations from photographs are of great value. The drawings 
1 add to the attractiveness of the volume. 

1 The author is the famous statistician, who has visited this country 1 

| often, and who writes as entertainingly and informingly as he does | 

| for the readers of his books and magazine articles. 

Cloth, lx + 219 pages. 1 

Price $i. 2 o. 

WORLD BOOK COMPANY 

Yonkers-on-Hudson, New York 
2126 Prairie Avenue, Chicago 

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. ANIMAL LIFE SERIES 

| THE^ STORY of MATKA | 

- A Tale of the | 
—_£T “TL Mist Islands I 





'Ey DAVID 
STARR JORDAN 


N O more charmingly devised nature story can be cited 
than this. It makes a stirring appeal to the imagina¬ 
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the fifth grade to high school. 

In the hands of the master stylist the tale of seal life is un¬ 
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these seals are vividly pictured. 

The story is a mine of delightful information about these 
valuable and unfamiliar denizens of the North seas. Did 
you know that seals shed tears and groan when emotion¬ 
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the spring after spending the winter in the South? These 
and other fascinating tidbits make it of interest to older 
persons too. The book is illustrated from photographs 
and drawings by Chloe Leslie Starks. 

The appendix contains an article on the fur seals of the 
Pribilof Islands by George Archibald Clark. Price 80 cts. 


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Yonkers-on-Hudson, New York 
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IN PIONEER LIFE SERIES 



Ox-Team Days on 
the Oregon Trail 

By EZRA MEEKER 

Revised and Edited by Howard R. Driggs 
In 1852 Ezra Meeker left Iowa to make the hazardous journey by 
ox team to Oregon. After fifty-four years of struggle in the develop¬ 
ment of the northwest country he retraced his journey, again by ox 
team, in order to induce people to mark the famous Oregon Trail 
which the pioneers had used. 

This book is the thrilling, true story of what Mr. Meeker has seen 
and done—of the struggle through an unknown country to win and 
finally to hold the West, and of efforts to preserve the memory of 
the Trail. 

The account reflects the real spirit of Americanism, and will go far 
to humanize our history through its vivid pictures of the brave men 
and women who helped push our frontier to the Pacific. 

Cloth, x -{- 225 pages. Illustrated. ‘Price $1.20 

WORLD BOOK COMPANY 

Yonkers-on-Hudson, New York 
2126 Prairie Avenue, Chicago 









INDIAN LIFE AND INDIAN LORE 





By Mary E. Laing 

Illustrations from 27 paintings by David C. Lithgow 

T HIS story gives a portrayal of the 
noblest of Indians—Hiawatha. It 
follows established facts, and bares to the 
reader the heart of his race. It is a con¬ 
vincing tale. 

The training of the Indian youth is shown; 
the career of the hero as a warrior is told; 
his great work for peace with the Five 
Tribes is described. 

Besides the story, there is an account of the 
historical Hiawatha;, also a complete Glos¬ 
sary giving definitions as well as pro¬ 
nunciations of the new Indian words. A 
map of the country of the Longhouse will 
enable the reader to follow the journeys of 
the Indian people. 

The book is intended as a supplementary 
reader in schools, being adapted to the sixth 
grade or above. It will also be valuable in 
groups of the Wood-craft League, Camp¬ 
fire Girls, and Boy Scouts. 

Cloth, xxvi +329 pages. Price $1.60. 

WORLD BOOK COMPANY 

Yonkers-on-Hudson, New York 
2126 Prairie Avenue, Chicago 


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PIONEER LIFE SERIES 


THE WHITE INDIAN BOY 



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UNCLE NICK AMONG THE SHOSHONES 


Everybody that knew Uncle Nick Wilson was always begging him 
to tell about the pioneer days in the Northwest. When he was eight 
years old the Wilson family crossed the plains by ox-team. He was 
only twelve when he slipped away from home to travel north with 
a band of Shoshones, with whom he wandered about for two years, 
sharing all the experiences of Indian life. Later, after he had re¬ 
turned home, he was a pony express rider, he drove a stage on the 
Overland route, and he acted as guide in an expedition against the 
Gosiute Indians. 

A few years ago Uncle Nick was persuaded to write down his recol¬ 
lections, and Professor Howard N. Driggs helped him to make his 
account into a book that is a true record of pioneer life, with its 
hardships and adventures. 

The White Indian Boy is illustrated with many instructive photo¬ 
graphs and with drawings of Indian life by F. N. Wilson. 

Single copies of this book are $1.20 postpaid. Discounts are allowed 
when a number of copies are ordered. Send orders to the publisher 


WORLD BOOK COMPANY 

Yonkers-on-Hudson, New York 
2126 Prairie Avenue, Chicago 






INDIAN LIFE AND INDIAN LORE 


INDIAN DAYS IN THE LAND 
OF THE OF THE 

LONG AGO HEAD-HUNTERS 

TWO BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE BY 

Edward S. Curtis 

Author of “ The North American Indian ” 


TN Indian Days of The Long Ago the 
author gives an intimate view of 
Indian life in the olden days, reveals 
the great diversity of language, dress, 
and habits among them, and shows 
how every important act of their lives 
was influenced by spiritual beliefs and 
practices. 

The book tells the story of Kukusim, 
an Indian lad who is eagerly awaiting 
the time when he shall be a warrior. 
It is full of mythical lore and thrilling 
adventures, culminating in the moun¬ 
tain vigil, when Kukusim hears the 
spirit voices which mark the passing of 
his childhood. Illustrated with photo¬ 
graphs by the author and drawings by 
F. N. Wilson. 


THEODORE ROOSEVELT once 
said that Mr. Curtis has caught 
glimpses, such as few white men ever 
catch, into the strange spiritual and 
mental life of the Indians. In In the 
Land of the Head-Hunters these glimp¬ 
ses are shared with his readers. 

The story centers about Motana, the 
son of the great War Chief. The moun¬ 
tain vigil. the wooing and winning of 
Naida, the raid of Yaklus and his war¬ 
riors, the rescue of the captured Naida, 
and the final victory, celebrated by 
ceremonial dances, are all described. 
The action is rapid and the story is 
told in the direct, simple style of the 
true epic. Illustratea with thirty full- 
page photographs by the author. 


Price $1.60 each. 

WORLD BOOK COMPANY 

Yonkers-on-Hudson, New York 
2126 Prairie Avenue, Chicago 






































































































































































































































































































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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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